There Can Be Only Two
by SilentHypoCrit
Summary: NOIR X Weiß Kreuz Cross :One murdering, three meetings and quite a few possibilities: When interesting people meet in the night under interesting circumstances, the outcome is more than just undetermined.Noir! Schwarz! In the end black is black.
1. Proglogue

Disclaimer: If there is anyone out there actually believing in me trying to get money out of writing this or even me owning those characters, he is hopefully locked away securely and far away from any lawyer that might try to sue me for this piece of fan fiction. I don't even like Weiß Kreuz- I blame my friend Panda-chan for causing all of this. (She also was a great help with proofreading and especially balancing)

(#) foot notes - see end of Chapter

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**Prologue**

Naoe Nagi was staring out of his classroom's window, overlooking a rather anticlimactic landscape. Had his classroom been on the other side of the building his view would have contained the impressive skyscrapers of downtown Shinjuku, or the Sunplaza 1 building in Ikebukuro, the more interesting features among Tokyo's skyline; but it was not. On this side of the building the only thing in view were the endless rows of buildings, the neighborhoods full of people living their normal, boring lives every day till they died. Not aware of the evil that lurked behind this façade of normality and boredom. That even lurked within their own hearts, always underneath the surface, never to see the light of a normal boring day. Especially not this day in it's splendid ordinariness. The gray clouds - not dark enough to be threatening and appealing in a morbid way, yet far from being fleecy and pleasing - hung low in the sky. The light was dull in these early hours, and it was hazy. The Kantou and Sanchi mountain ranges of Yamanashi-ken to the west of Tokyo were barely visible and the proud sight of the Fuji-san was only left to the eye of imagination – to be seen only by those who knew, only by those who had seen the holy mountain where it had been from the beginning of all time – hidden behind a hundred kilometers of air polluted by the millions of people living in the area around Tokyo, hidden by clouds, hidden by… .

Yet being on of those more imaginative people, the lapsed volcano though was not the matter on Nagi's mind, nor was it anything happening in his current proximity; his classmates not here yet and thus the classroom being empty. It was his father figure, his mentor and close friend – his older brother in a strange way – that was bothering him. To be exactly: it was the strange behavior of Brad Crawford earlier that morning that had Nagi wondering. The Brad Crawford he knew, had always had an aura of self confidence around him, an aura of knowledge, an aura of respect. Always perfectly dressed and always in control. The person he met this morning, was a stressed out businessman after one too many hours of overtime work. An unshaven, tired out man who's last words had been words of warning.

"Be careful." had been those words from the man that had stumbled out of his room to wish Nagi goodbye. Soft spoken and with a trace of something….something….UnCrawford like. With a normal parent the phrase would have been nothing out of the ordinary. With Brad Crawford those words and his outer appearances had seemed to contain something along the lines of: "The world is coming to its end and we are all going to die." – being declared by the major leaders of the world simultaneously. At least in Nagi's opinion.

Crawford had been strict, he had been cruel. Some people even would have gone as far as saying that he was a damnable bastard and downright asshole(1). In any case, he had never ever shown signs of compassion for his companions beyond the scope of the most improbable missions. Being raised by the secret organization called Eszett to be a heartless professional killer was partly a reason for that. Being a precognitive human – almost always to know what was going to happen if he wished to know – another. For him to give a word of nonspecific warning was nothing that should ever have happened. Not to mention his unkempt appearance. He would never have guessed that Crawford needed to shave at all.Lost in his thoughts and worries Nagi sighted. The depressing weather was not helping to raise his mood, either.

A few moments later a soft and asking, female voice cut through his thoughts:  
"Naoe- sempai?" The small framed boy reacted, instinctively answering the call with a quick acknowledging "Hai" in his soft voice even before he had turned his head around. Nagi faced the person who had addressed him so formally and briefly wondered why some younger schoolmate would have anything to ask him.

He looked up into the face of a small short haired girl dressed in the typical girl's uniform of his school. He also looked up into the barrel of a silencer, fit to a Beretta, respectively held in the petit hand of aforesaid girl and partly blocking the view of her quiet beautiful face and striking big, reddish-brown eyes. It was the last look of Naoe Nagi's life as the girl pulled the trigger without any hesitation, her face betraying no emotion of any kind.

* * *

(1) Most of those people though did not have the chance to voice that particular opinion or at least not for a very long time – being dead effectively hindering them to do so.

* * *

Authors Note: 

This is Release Version 1.05, but there have only been minor spelling and formating changes.  
I doubt anyone of the few people who have read the original version will ever read this line.

There is a fanart for Chapter 2 courtesy to my friend Panda-chan. It can be found over my profile.   
By the way if you happen to spare a few minutes drop me a Review.


	2. Morning Meetings

Disclaimer: If there is anyone out there actually believing in me trying to get money out of writing this or even me owning those characters he is hopefully locked away securely and far away from any lawyer that might try to sue me for this piece of fan fiction. I don't even really like Weiß Kreuz.

* * *

There Can Be Only Two – a Weiß Kreuz/Noir crossover Fanfiction by the one known as the SilentHypoCrit (at least around the 22nd of October 2005) 

Also hosted at the moment under th same nick at:

www.animexx.de

A FanArt for Chapter Two can be found over my profile.

(#) foot notes - see end of chapter

§/§§§ formatting characters indicating a break or change. FF won't allow anything else, or I am just to stupid to figure out formating as I would like.

* * *

**Chapter 1 – Morning Meetings**

Schuldig was hammering against the door of Brad Crawford's room:  
"Verdammte Scheiße. Crawford, open the damn door and get you damn ass to the phone. I don't care if you are naked or whatever. They only will speak to", continuing in a high pitched office lady like voice, sneering at the silliness of the formal Japanese: "the most honored legal guardian of Naoe Nagi-kun: 'kurofoludo-sama.'" Falling back to his normal tone, but still banging against the door he continued: "You old bastard probably already know what's going on, but I want to know as damn well, why Nagi's damn school is calling, why the hell they seem totally freaked out, and why they won't even tell Brad Crawford's chief secretary what the fuck is going on."

He gave the door a dissatisfying kick and turned around. He hated it not to know what was going on, he hated his inability not to read minds over the phone, he hated Brad Crawford for not being Brad Crawford during the last two days, he hated it even more that he was worried at all about Nagi, but most of all he hated it to play Crawford's secretary on that phone line.

'Bread and Berry Imports: Schwarz' That company name Crawford had chosen practically screamed "cover" or "fake" and he was waiting for the day their enemies got bright enough to look them up in the telephone book of Tokyo. They sure had quite a few of them and one would expect that at least one of those enemies should have found out by now. The biggest joke of all was, that this cover company was actually a quite successful venture and needed neither creative book tweaking, nor any business intervention by the means, that most people would expect from a company run by one Brad Crawford and his secretary one Mr. S. Huldig. Not to mention the 17 year old kid they employed as an accountant and their slightly borderline head of security.

Behind him the door finally opened and Crawford stepped outside in rather wrinkled white pants and with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up.  
"No! I don't really know what's going on, but I fear the worst.", were his only words, before he headed towards the office. Strangely disenchanted words, more a whisper than real speech, making Schuldig wonder if – whatever was going on – lesser man would have fallen a long time ago, had they been in Crawford's place.

Not knowing what else to do or say he followed Crawford back into the office and listened to him talking on the phone.  
"…yes I have completely understood….. no Madam I have no idea…..I will come over right now……..good bye." He put down the handset and turned to Schuldig, who noticed a strange glint in Crawford's eyes. Something that for some reason reminded the red head of their Irish team member currently not present.  
"Prepare the car and get Farfarello while I get changed. We are leaving." giving Schuldig no chance to ask any further question he turned around and headed for his room.

§§§

The sky over Tokyo had not changed since morning, but rain had begun to drench the town. The members of Schwarz drove in silence through the slow traffic of Tokyo's outer wards. Schuldig would have loved to go faster, but it was just not possible during day time – anywhere in the Kanto area. He knew why he loved working at night. He also would have loved to know what was going on. Crawford still had not told them anything since they had gotten into the car and set off for Nagi's school. Briefly he had considered trying to look into the mind of the tall American on the passengers seat, but there were lines within Schwarz not even he would dare to cross. So he decided for a more conventional way:

"Ok Crawford. Enough of this crap. What is going on? Why are we going to Nagi's school in the middle of the day? Why did they call us at all? Tell me here and now!" he suddenly shouted angrily.  
Not surprised at all Crawford turned his head and complied with Schuldig's demand:  
"Nagi is dead. Shot about one hour ago by an unknown person. Head shot. He had no chance at all. They closed his school and are investigating. The police will be expecting us." he quickly said without any audible emotion. For the next moment only the monotonous squeaking of the wipers was the only noise in the car.

"What the fuck!", was the only thing that came to Schuldig's mind. Perhaps it was the same with the other passenger in the car, but if it came to the mind of Farfarello it stayed there, hidden deep, hidden away even from Shuldig's mind-eye had he sat out to find it. And maybe it was better that way.  
"Whoever did it was a professional." continued Crawford. "They knew how to find him. They knew the grounds. They got in an out unseen, and shot the most powerful telekinetic that we know of directly in the face. There were no other students present and no one else was targeted. They wanted him and they got him. And we are going to be next."

Schuldig overcame his inability to speak:  
"You are fucking kidding me! You were on the phone for only two minuets, why do you know so much? Why haven't you said something. Didn't you see anything? Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße." Angrily he hit the steering wheel repeatedly.  
"I only saw what the police will find out, and nothing beyond that. I have not seen who did it, nor why." replied Crawford's cool strong voice, overpowering Schuldig's rage. Hesitantly he added: "To be honest, I have seen us all die during that last days."  
"And you haven't told us, you asshole! Crawford what is wrong on with you!" came the instant reply from the German, heated and accusing in tone.  
"It is kind of pointless to tell you that you died three years ago, or that you were shot last month, don't you think?." answered Crawford without loosing his cool. As if telling there was going to be no milk today, nothing more outrageous.  
"You must also agree that it is also very hard to decided which way anyone is going to die exactly, when you have seen him die in about twenty-three different ways, non of those at any point in the future but in the past… in addition to other specters of times long gone. Not to mention the mild irritation you experience from seeing not only people close to you, but yourself, too, die in gruesome ways. After about two nights of very fine detail, and futile efforts to find out what the meaning behind all that is, and thus trying to see further, trying to get more information, you, too, probably would not know what to tell anyone besides to be careful and wish him good bye"

Now a slightest trace of irritation had found its way into Crawford's speech. Something only someone close to the American would have noticed. Something like the slightly clenched fist or the absent of a confident smile on his face.  
"So you tell me that your time thingy is broken or something?" Schuldig asked disbelieving.  
„Yes! That pretty much sums it up." agreed Crawford, and with that Schuldig knew that all talking was done. What Crawford had just told them seemed to be a reasonable explanation for what had been going on during the last two days. It was absurd enough, and it was probably the closest that Crawford had ever come to spilling his heart out.

It explained somewhat how something like this could have happened at all. It also let to a whole new set of other questions that Schuldig did not like on bit. He did not like any of it at all. The alternative to what he just had heard was that Crawford had decided to dissolve Schwarz, and had chosen a really sick and twisted way to do it - but there were not many things in the world Schuldig doubted more than Brad Crawford going insanely mad.

In the backseat Farfarello began playing with one of his knives, keeping his one eye closed and listening to the sounds the blade made against his skin as the black sedan drove on through the rain. Eventually Schuldig switch on the radio and soft sounds filled the car. Sounds of a song that people at another place and another time would have identified as 'Silent Pain' by an Artist named Yuki Kajiura.

§§§

Some long and exhausting hours later the three bereaved members of Schwarz had returned home. The talking with the police and the school authorities had been…. well, like talking to the police and school authorities when you are a group of business men with mostly non legal business transactions, who has just lost one of its members – an under aged boy not to mention – in a school shooting, and has now to convince the various officials of several facts.

Those being:

- That the three foreigners showing up at a crime scene are in fact 'Legal Aliens' and honorable businessman, and are not connected to any suspect in no way – which actually can be really hard considering that we are talking about normal Japanese police officers here; and one in your group has scars all over his body, your sense of fashion and/or hairstyle is not very mainstream, and you are not used to play anything by rules in general.

- Also that it is perfectly normal, and in no way suspicious and worth investigation, that one of the three 'Gaijin-san' happened to be the legal guardian of the clearly Japanese victim in a Japanese school shooting – with no other living relatives or history known.

- And, of course, that you are deeply hit by the tragedy, and that you have no idea what has happened or why. And you really do not want to talk about it all, because you are so struck with grief – which is not too hard, that being mostly the truth, at least in your own, maybe somewhat strange, way.

After you have done so much convincing, the act of getting permission to see the crime scene, touch the victim as you like, going through all his personal belongings, and even taking away some unimportant personal stuff like the backpack or the wallet or any other object that could be connected to you in any way, is mere child's play.

Schuldig sighted. It really had been an exhausting day so far, and it was only three in the afternoon. Normally he would have been up for only a few hours, but thanks to that phone call…. He really was glad that Crawford had sent Nagi to one of those really expensive and rather exclusive private schools, the advantage now being, that neither the parents of the other students, nor the school board were very interested in the incident making it to the headline or any news at all. They also had the influence to prevent it.

'Convincing' a busload of journalists moping around in front of the import company's buildings was the last thing he wanted to do now. What he wanted to do right now was to beat the hell out of something or someone, anyone just to get the frustration out of his systems. They were Schwarz, verdammte Scheiße, they were the guys who went out to kill people, they were not prey themselves.

With a need of action in his heart he stood up and made his way out of the kitchen. Absently noting, that no one had done the dishes so far. A fact that again reminded him that it was Nagi who had been shot since it had always been Nagi who had done the dishes(1). Letting his mind go astray he walked down the hallway to their conference room where Crawford was busy roaming through Nagi's belongings they had liberated at the school.

Seeing Farfarello rapidly typing at the room's computer terminal though was a slight surprise. Ignoring the American for the moment he went over to the blond Irish and looked on the monitor, only to find his attempt to understand what exactly the other man was doing futile, as numbers and figures changed rapidly and given commands made no sense to him. It was no normal netsurfing or other mundane activity Farfarello was doing, so much Schuldig could tell.

"Yo Farf! I was not even sure you could read at all. So what exactly are you doing?" he dryly asked.

"Don't disturb him. He is doing research on our 'customers'." Crawford interrupted, stressing the last word, making it pretty obvious that it was no everyday business activity Farfarello was doing. His concentrated and cold façade, yet showing inner tension, emphasized that and proofed to Schuldig, that he was not the only one that was a little ticked out by the events of the day.

"Customers? What do you mean?". Wordlessly Crawford handed him a piece of paper which turned out to be an ordinary ordering form for their bread and berry import business.

"And?" Schuldig turned a questioning gaze towards their leader.

"I found it in Nagi's bag. The delivery address is an abandoned construction site somewhere out in Kanagawa. Actually a place where multiple dead Yakuzas and obviously criminal foreigners were found a few months ago. The day of delivery is the day after tomorrow. Two o'clock in the morning."

"So what do you want to tell me? We don't do deliveries that early, and that's the job of the normal staff anyway."

"Take a look at what exactly has been ordered to be delivered, late at night, to an abandoned building in a secluded area!" came Crawfords reply heavy with sarcasm.

Complying Schuldig scanned the list of ordered items carefully marked on the form with blue ink:

"One leaf of Irish Soda Bread?" he slowly started to read the list aloud item by item his face slowly betraying his growing rage. "One leaf of German Rye Bread? One Glass of American blackberries? You got to be kidding me! For this I will make sure they, whoever they are, will die; very, very painfully." he snarled crumbling the small thin sheet of cheap paper in his fist. "They are mocking us. And I hate being mocked! And I really, really hate bad humor!". He would have continued his ramblings had Crawford not interrupted him:

"Stop it Schuldig. In the first place this proofs that whoever did this is to be taken seriously. To make this kind of obvious invitation to a duel they not only must be very confident in their abilities, but they also must have done a really good job at gathering information about us. In addition to that, I cannot really foretell anything right at the moment, as I told you, and I must presume they posses that knowledge also."

Processing the given information Schuldig visibly cooled down and regained a posture of relaxed coolness:

"So what do you suggest are we going to do? Just go there tomorrow and see how creative these guys got designing a trap? That would be so not our style now, wouldn't it?" he asked with a sly grin returning to his face.

"Nope. I did not really plan on that. Though it is a last option. But I hope to get to know our new fans a little better before the great show." Crawford replied also showing an invidious smile.

"There are not that many people out there that are that good in the fist place. Farfarello's research has already ruled out some possibilities, and he is making progress. Though so far he has not found any clue for the biggest question."

"And that would be: Why? Why someone is daring to hunt down Schwarz?"

"Exactly. The most important thing we have discovered so far is that it is NOT Eszett."

"Not Eszett? Well good to know that they haven't a grudge against us anymore."

"Oh I seriously doubt that they do not want to see us dead anymore. But I checked almost anyone of importance there and within the next forty-eight hours non of them will be anywhere near us."

"Okaayy." Not really satisfied with that answer but knowing that Crawford would tell him anything of importance if he knew something: "So what now?"

"That is pretty simple:" Crawford replied "We try to gather as much as we can from here. If we find one or more leads that need to be investigated on scene, we move out and eliminated anything that could even remotely be a threat. If, by any chance, we do not find anything at all, we might as well go out and practice eliminating something, but we will have to wait for the party tomorrow to show 'them', that they have chosen the wrong people to mess with."

"You know Crawford, that is the single best thing you have said today. You know how I just love these simple plans, and I haven't had a good night on the town in a long time, anyway." Schuldig's wide Cashmere cat grin promised no fun to anyone but himself. But a lot of fun nevertheless.

* * *

(1) Well. "had had to do the dishes" would be more accurate. Schwarz was not a democratic organization and no one would even dare to imagine Crawford in an apron at the sink. Some people might imagine Schuldig doing so, but they were few and usually quickly forgot that image. Of course Farfarello could have done them, but…let's say he just did not do them.

* * *

Author's notes: Not much. This is version 1.05 but only small spelling an formatting mistakes have been corrected. If you liked it pleas drop the line, ne. 


	3. Tokyo Sightseeing

Disclaimer:

Though shall not be under the illusion that it is indeed the author of this "fan fiction" that is in possession to the characters.

Though shall only read this "fan fiction" for your personal entertainment and shall not try to gain worldly possession with it as the author is trying to do so.

Though shall know that the author's thanks go to Panda-chan for greatly helping with this work.

But mostly though shall not sue the author!

(#) foot notes - see end of chapter

§/§§§ formatting Character indicating a break. FF won't allow anything else, or I am just to stupid to figure out formating I would like.

* * *

**Chapter 2 – Tokyo Sightseeing**

Alongside the car's windows the neon lighted skyline flashed by as they drove on the metropolitan expressway, revealing the only beauty this endless nightmare of modern urbanization called Tokyo had: The artificial lighted night. But Schuldig had no eyes for the bizarre beauty outside, nor was he interested in the people who lived there. He was eager to get some action not even having waited for a briefing at the base.

"So Mr. Hacker what's on our shopping list?" He asked in the direction of the passengers seat where the silent Irish sat.  
"Not much." the questioned man answered him with an emotionless quite tone, but continued with a stream of information:  
"About two dozen known assassins are either operating in this area at the moment or untraceable. No lead on a possible client or his motives. Eszett has been out ruled completely, but otherwise nothing. Crawford has mentally traced almost 300 hotels in Tokyo and subsequent areas practical using our adversary's ability against them. He doubts that there is more than on party in this town with the means to disturb his sight. So we are going to check out the areas with the most 'disturbances' in the near future."

The flow of information - more likely the flood of information, given the fact that it had been Farfarello, who had just summarized multiple hours of research - left Schuldig wondering but he kept the 'What-the-fuck-did-you-just-say?' question to himself. He looked at the image of the sleeping Brad Crawford in the rearview mirror and shrugged. No wonder Mr. C was exhausted, he thought as Farfarello continued his explanation:  
"He roughly knows where they are, at about what time. Nothing more.""Are we positive that it is 'they' and not 'he'?"  
"Not very likely."  
Which made only sense, since he strongly doubted any single person being dumb enough to actually kill one of Schwarz, and afterwards openly challenging the rest – which was a bad idea all by itself no matter what.  
"So we are now going to this area to look around in the hope of finding something, because we have no better clues on who wants to kill us and where he is?" Schuldig asked skepticism prominent in his voice."Basically!" was the only answer he got ending the conversation.

They drove on for a while cars passing one of the veins that pulsated without rest in the heart of the Japanese capital. The silence only broken by the dampened noise of the traffic surrounding them until Schuldig suddenly disrupted the almost peaceful atmosphere:  
"One more Question Farf?"  
"Yes?"  
"What I wanted to know was: HOW and since WHEN can YOU use computers like Nagi did, or since when do you talk in sentences spanning more than five words at all?" His voice was laden with a strange mixture of frustration, curiosity, excitement, and humor.

Farfarello blinked for a moment, slightly surprised:"Merely because I have not shown these capability in the past does not mean I do not posses any further abilities at all. In fact the processing of physical pain or pleasure takes up a large part of the human mental capacities. As you are aware of: I do not feel any pain at all, so what am I supposed to do with the unused brainpower? Compose Operas? Write Musicals? Or solve complex mathematical problems?" came the nonchalant soft reply from the passenger's site. Again effectively shutting Schuldig up with the unusualness of its relative complexity. And again the car sank into silence for a few minutes.

"You do NOT write musicals, do you?" were the last words spoken during the ride. They trailed off unanswered as the car rolled along the two-lane metropolitan highway, sided by ugly noise barriers that obscured the undisturbed view on the illuminated buildings beneath and above.

§§§

The targeted area had been as expected. It was ideal for someone not too interested in publicity, but with the possible need to get away very quickly. A boring business district centered around the local train station, fitted mostly for the needs of the local commuters, schoolgirls and boys, and shopping housewives – yet no housemen, as that species was widely unknown in Japan. A department store towered over the station belonging to the company that was running the line. Two other train or subway lines ran nearby, an expressway exit was around the corner, and this area of Tokyo showed absolutely no distinguishable feature that would interest anyone besides the residents. It looked like all the neighborhoods away from the bustling commuter hubs and shopping districts like Shinjuku, Ueno, and the like.

A rather sad looking surrounding Schuldig noted, as he looked at the boring, ugly concrete buildings side by side, yet not even bearing the controversial beauty of regularity. Buildings containing apartments and shops, divided by small streets, that were overhung with and endless bundle of cables mostly invisible at night due to streetlights and store-sings underneath them. Artificial light sources that were overpowering every light ray from above, be it scattered from the rubber coated copper lines, from the moon, or even from the stars. A sight that Schuldig had gotten used to, having lived here for so long. The most prominent features maybe was that, in addition to the normal accumulation of Pachinko parlors, franchise chain restaurants, and bars of many styles and sizes, there was a medium sized western style hotel that also belonged to the same conglomerate as the train line and the department store. A hotel that – as Crawford had described it – seemed to be a focal point of the abnormalities he could not see. They had decided to park car a little way off and explore on foot to make sure nothing too unexpected would happen before closing in on the hotel.

As expected as the ambience had been, the area had not turned out anything of interest as well. Neither the officers at the local Koban, nor the two little yakuza dealers that roamed the darker corners of this particular area had had valuable knowledge of any sort – Schuldig knew that for sure and had seen to it remaining that way. No sense in spreading rumors about some strange gaijins roaming the streets, asking strange questions about other strange foreign people.

Well everything had been pretty boring and uninteresting up until the point they had gone into the hotel and made their way through the mundane lobby. A dull lighted reception area, decorated with cheap industrial reprints of Ukyo-e and other Japanese style artworks, trying to blend the postmodern catalogue décor of the furniture and tapestry with the native style of the host country, and failing miserably.

Instead of the staff being reluctant and keeping and weary eye on them the concierge greeted them in passable English:  
"Good evening Gentlemen! What may we accomplish for you?" Slightly taken aback, but not letting the slip show on the surface Schuldig – naturally as Schwarz's appointed man for conversations - started with story he had decided on using as an introduction, and later on directing the conversation with his own means:  
"Well good evening. We are looking for a business consort of ours, that we kind of lost contact with and suspecting to be staying here." But instead of wondering why no formal introduction had been given, nor any names, the concierge immediately reacted:  
"Oh yes. You would not happen to be Mr. Crawford or Mr. Huldig from….?"

Not losing any chance as he heard those words, not even being angry about the usually way the Japanese mutilated their names, Schuldig forced his way into the man's mind to prevent any action that might put them at a disadvantage. But there was nothing to prevent. Obvious to the penetration of his mind - or typical Japanese worker-bee-like mindlessness, as Schuldig absently noted - the man continued:  
"There are not many foreigners coming to this place, so if you happened to be one of the afore mentioned gentlemen: your consort has left a message for you. Shall I get it?"  
Introducing himself to the conversation Crawford began to speak:  
"Yes. I am Mr. Crawford. Please serve the message." Not asking for further identification, thanks to Schuldig's intervention, the man reached under the counter and presented a white envelope that bared no outer marks but theirs and the company's names.  
"Interesting." Crawford noted looking onto the white bundle.  
"What is it. A bomb or what?" Schuldig inquired.  
"No, but a homing devices. As soon as we open it whoever left this will know that we are here. At least so much I can tell."  
"Well so lets open it anyway! I just hate this cat and mice play. At least as long I am not the cat for sure. Lets get it over with."  
"Why should we take such rash action, Schuldig? I can tell you about the other content of that envelope besides that homing device without opening it. No need to inform anyone right away! Quite a sophisticated device, by the way." Crawford's confident smile seemed to accentuate the sincerity of his words. He took the envelope from the man behind the counter and concentrated for a moment only to open his eyes with a mild surprise showing on his face.  
"Well a letter from a girl is the last thing I would have expected" he said out loud.  
"A letter from a little girl?" Farfarello, more talkative than he had experienced him in all the time that he had know the Irish, expressed the words on Schuldig's mind; though lacking the emotional heat Schuldig would have used.  
"Yes. There are two photos and a fine crafted letter in decent English," Crawford noted, "telling us some of the things we wanted to know. But best I will quote:

Dear Brad, dear Farf, dear Shu,

(I hope you are not offended, but I like the sound of 'Farf' and 'Schu'). It is so very nice, and also very impressive of you to have come by. But Altena told me not expect less of Eszett's Schwarz. Even though it is not very gentleman like to come to a date with a girl before the set place and time, you cannot imagine how exited I feel about contacting you with this letter knowing that if you read these lines things will become much more interesting. I would really love to say 'Hi' and warn you personally, but I fear, that you are occupied with more urgent matters at the moment, and I doubt that all of us will be able to meet after that matter is solved."

"I surely will solve that matter for her." Schuldig interrupted rudely: "Who in all the damnable hell did write that crap. If this is from a little schoolgirl, what kind of §#&$? school did she attend to? And we are not Eszett's!"  
"Shut up! It goes on!" replied Crawford angrily before continuing with the reciting:  
"…matter is solved. But as a reward for having had all the trouble of coming by you will receive some information:

The people that you are probably looking for are two women named Mireille Bouquet and Kirika Yumura. You will find their photos in the envelope. Mireille is the blond European one and the leader of the team calling themselves NOIR. The Asian with the short black hair is Kirika. These two should be staying here. Do not underestimate them, please! It would ruin my preparations, if you get killed too fast by those two because of such a foolish mistake! We have high expectations in the following encounter between you and them. Please keep that in mind! You have been warned. Have a good time. Chloe"

Crawford finished the letter with a deep breath. Without commenting further on the strangeness of the letter, nor giving the redheaded German the chance to make any further sappy comments he began giving orders :  
"Ok. Schuldig find out anything you can about an Asian looking girl and a blond western women, from France I suppose, from the guy!" pointing his thump towards the clerk behind the counter.  
"And of course anything about the fair lady calling herself Chloe that was so kind to give us all these information." Turning his gaze towards his other partner he continued:  
"Farfarello, please check out the security system of this place. We will meet back there in ten minutes." With a wink towards the back office that clearly sported a 'Staff only' sign he walked away from the ebony marble counter and took a seat in the small lounge crossing his legs; waiting, relaxing, thinking - for the moment. His white suit blending in with color of the cushions. A silent questioning 'So Noir it is?', almost inaudible, floated through the air, not carrying the mood of the speaker.

Schwarz was dangerous, not only because their members were extraordinary individuals, each deadly on his own, but also because they were working as a team, not questioning orders when needed - or at least not very often. Ten minutes later in the back office, that the staff had conveniently cleared, Crawford was summarizing the status:  
"A blond lady that fits the description has left the hotel about an hour ago, looking for a bar to have a drink or at least she has asked for directions to a good one. Video footage depicts the same person as on the photo that is inside this envelope. Though the Lady is signed in under the name of Adrienne Belda. She is sharing a room with her niece Kuroko Belda, who the clerk – somewhat contemptuous – has perceived as a 'harufu'. As far as the guys down here are aware of this, Adrienne left on her own and the child should be alone in their room. Officially third floor room 314, but a little unofficial deal with the staff relocated them to second floor room 202, which no one was supposed to know or even talk about, of course. There is no trace of anyone calling him or herself Chloe, or at least no trace of anyone that has seem suspicious to anyone. None of the staff actually know who turned in the envelope, but it was not one of the two guests. So we are still not clear about the motives of this Chloe, but it seems like she is trying to play them against us. Creating the impression of not really being in league with the other two. Anything else I forgot to mention?"  
"You know Crawford. I wish you'd be able to tell us all that crap without us having to do the actual work." came Schuldig's cynical comment: "At least it saves the time to actually report all this. So what now?"  
"Now?" Crawford's lips turned into an unpleasant smile: "Now we proceed with the original plan and play a little cat and mouse after our own rules with those ladies to find out what their part in the game is. You take care of the girl, Schuldig. And stay in touch. Farfarllo, please watch out for our mysterious benefactor Chloe, won't you. They are dangerous and can kill you. More I am not able to tell you. Have fun. I, myself, am going to have a good drink and maybe a nice personal chat with the lovely French mademoiselle in town."

With those words he ripped open the envelope revealing the photos and letter inside as well as a small electronic devise, throwing last mentioned item over to his blond companion, who turned it around in his hand a few times intensely staring at it with his yellow brown eye, the other one being hidden behind his trademark eye patch.

Crawford was walking down the streets of the still very active business district. He knew the address of the place the hotel staff had given him, though he kept an eye on his surrounding, being on guard for something he might not have seen, and trying to spot a place that might have intrigued a female professional killer from France. The other part of his mind, the precognitive part to be exactly, was still trying to overcome the disturbances – especially strong here – but making little process. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks. "Well that sure is a surprise! Damn those yellow pages." he thought to himself his face turning from the indifferent mask it had shown into a pleased and humored smile: "Nothing against a little fun before the real hard part."  
Those thoughts replacing his earlier worries he turned towards the place his eyes had caught sight of...

§§§

"Shouldn't you be getting the girl right now?" ask a low voice next to Schuldig. The German had taken a seat at the hotel bar and was enjoying a drink, messing around with the other people present in his own way.  
"Go away Farf! It's not like it has to be done right away." He countered: "Later is actually better. It's easier if the brat is already asleep. No need to hurry." Somewhat satisfied with the explanation the tall blonde man shrugged and started to walk away again.  
"Yo Farf! Have a drink with me." Schuldig called him back: "It's not like this Chloe person will pop out of nowhere immediately, and knowing Crawford, the old bastard is having his own fun right now anyway!"  
"No." came the only reply and the Irish went away again: "Don't forget to stay in touch!" where his last words repeating their leaders' warning from earlier.

Said old bastard was indeed having fun. The advertisement boards of the shop he was currently in were in pink and white, sported lines like 'Special Valentines Day Offers' and 'Late night sales on the 13th of February – all our Staff attendant', and they were indeed having an affect. Even though it was pretty late, there were a lot of customers all over the flower shop. Husbands and boyfriends buying smaller and bigger bouquets – the size often being directly proportional to the guilt the customer had for the various reasons. But also a lot of young women and even still a few young girls, some of them actually looking at the flowers and dreaming about what they might get the next day, but most of them were more occupied with the staff rather than with the merchandise.

"Well business seems to be going well, doesn't it?" Crawford got no reply from the clerk who only stared at him. While the whole staff seemed to have tightened up the very moment they saw him enter, the customers were oblivious to the change and happily continued their chitchatting and silent adoration of the boys managing the store, using the rare opportunity to see all four of them together – and of course using it to compare them.

"Well no wonder. With Valentines Day tomorrow sales must be great!" the white suited man continued his face sporting a wide grin: "Anyway I was just in the area to meet a French beauty and I thought that some flowers might be nice. Do you still have something exquisite that would befit a lady?" He still got no reaction from the tall red headed man in front of him who seemed to be more occupied with frantically taxing the surrounding, looking for a way to escape or a possible threat. "Hey I am talking to you! Won't an old acquaintance be allowed to get some flowers in here?" Crawford waved his hands in front of the man trying to get his attention back.

"What do you want?" the clerk more hissed than spoke. Some of the customers were taken aback by the rude behavior towards what they perceived as a tall, well behaved, and very good looking foreigner that spoke perfect Japanese and was probably rich. Unusual even for the man renown to be the shop's most impersonal, unfriendly staff member. A little to the side one of the girls who had been talking to another salesman could not hold back her curiosity and asked him in quiet voice, yet not quiet enough for Crawford not to overhear:

"Acquaintance? Wow. Does Aya-kun know him?" but she got no reply since the boyish looking man she had been talking to was completely ignoring her, his eyes focused on the smiling Crawford, his fist tightly clenched, the knuckles, prominently white, exposing his extreme tension. Undisturbed by the antics of the other employees Crawford restated his query:

"I'm looking for some flowers - and that's not the cheap ones you've got there in the front. Flowers I can present at a first date with French lady. I thought I might get some good advise here since the store seemed awfully popular. So will you help me, or not?"  
"A date? You?" disbelieving the clerk blinked  
"Yeah what else would I need flowers for? You seem to be experts on women's tastes for flowers." The distressed man noticed that suddenly all the attention in the store was focused on the uneven pair – a lot of women's eyes speaking of interest and expectations.  
"Well. Tell me about her and what your intentions are for her and we will see whether we have got something appropriate for you or not, Sir." A lot of the customers again wondered why the man with apron had been speaking so slowly and menacing, as if someone was threatening him at gunpoint, or why he had been stressing the words 'intentions' and 'Sir'. But they quickly forgot about it, as they watched a professional at work; a very good looking professional in their opinion, silently wishing that the unknown man was ordering for them, and a lot of them debating who was the actual better looking of the two men.

A few minutes later a still smiling Crawford, obviously in a good mood, was leaving the shop with a big bouquet, the content hidden in the white paper wrapping.  
"Thanks again for the friendship discount! Really good work, the lady will be very pleased! I think I will recommend your store to my business associates." he called before turning back and disappeared into the night.

Behind him the shop's staff could only watch in disbelieve as the American leisurely strode away muttering among themselves, but too quiet for the still present customer to hear:  
"An interesting choice of flowers for him."  
"Should we follow him?"  
"No!"  
"But…"  
"You really want to play chaperone to that guy on a date?"  
"Well no, but…"  
"..hey that could be interesting…….only joking"  
"Than don't. It's not our job!"  
"But he might…."  
"Just forget it. No one knowing us would come here to buy flowers before going to kill someone, would he?"  
"HE probably would."  
"In my opinion he was never here! Got it! The customers are waiting!"  
"But shouldn't we at least inform Manx or so?"  
"Yeah sure, and tell them what? An old acquainting just stopped by to get some flowers for a date? A professional precognitive bodyguard of a former target, a witness nevertheless, just visiting? You tell them."

The conversation of the customers however went other ways:  
"Wow. Is he a prince?"  
"Well if it wasn't a white suit, but an uniform he would look a little like my brother."  
"I could imagine him with a top hat and a cape."  
"With a mask or with a monocle?"  
"He had glasses, that's in between."  
"I wish it was me he is going to meet!"  
"Bah I hate boys! He is probably a pervert"  
"Maybe he is a famous thief"  
"He just looks a little bit like my old sempai."  
"You know he isn't Japanese?"  
"Doesn't matter! He still does look like him!"  
"That must be a very lucky girl he is going to meet."

And almost simultaneous: "But he is nothing compared to my…" the different names being incomprehensible though the honorable ending "sama" was prominent again with some of them.

Of course none of them had any idea how wrong they were about most things, especially the lucky girl part.  
Their whispers faded away into the gloomy night like the man in the white suit had done, leaving the innocent to themselves, their dreams protected by beasts, beasts with black hands...

§§§

While Schuldig had been taking a little break at the hotel lobby, Farfarello had been on the lookout for the person called Chloe. Not exactly sure what to expect, or from where, he had decided on the hotel roof as a watching post, after leaving the German to himself. The hotel having only three floors, Farfarello had no problems observing the main entrance and the street, as well as the roof access from his position – gargoyle like on the sill. Schuldig would be able to handle anything they might have overlooked inside the hotel. And since the chances of actually not having noticed something were rather slim, the best plan of action was to wait outside for the arrival of their mysterious informant. Sitting in the chilly winter breeze wearing just a T-Shirt was a small price to pay for being able to monitor at least two of the three entrances and have a quick look at the backdoor if needed. He didn't mind the cold anyway. A throwing knife heading for his kidneys though he did mind. So he flipped out of the way.  
"Chloe I suppose?" He got no answer from the silent roof.

§

'Well seems like it's time to go to work! Good luck to you Farf! Yo, Crawford it's starting' Schuldig stood up.  
"Thanks for the drink, man!" Since the barkeeper was not even wondering why the redhead did not pay anything at all, nor did he know anything else about the stranger, he also did not know that only receiving one of Schuldig's infamous smiles in trade for the beverage was a good thing. Ignoring the people at the bar the Schwarz member leisurely headed for the second floor briefly wondering whether to take the stairs or the elevator. Deciding not fall victim to corny elevator music he quickly jumped up the stairs.

The hallway, he found himself in, was boring. The hotel itself not being anything special, the second floor as well as the third consisted only of a single narrow corridor paved with an industrial red carpet – good for covering bloodstains Schuldig absently noticed – while the walls were painted in light yellow. Uniform and uninteresting lights were illuminating this miserable place of existence in equal intervals, designed with functionality in mind, not beauty or happiness. The rooms behind the simple white doors were probably of the same style, narrow and functional, nothing more.

Not wasting any time on actually complaining about this workplace Schuldig headed strait for the door displaying the 202 in uninspiring brass letters.  
"Well, Well what to do, how to kill?" Schuldig wondered aloud: "I could silently pick the lock with my l337 3v1l lock picking skillz. Or I could shoot the lock and burst into the room shooting everyone inside, which would be fun. Or.." smiling like the infamous proverbial cat who just ate the canary, "I just could use the master key the nice guy at the front desk gave me."  
Plan sat into action he carefully inserted the key and turned it softly. The door opened almost with out a sound revealing a short corridor with the obligatory sanitary unit to the side opening the view into a dark room with the beds hidden behind the corner.  
'Here we go!' he thought to himself taking out his gun and turning off the safeguard while entering the room.

§

'Yo, Crawford it's starting.' Schuldig's voice sounded in his head. 'Well good timing!'

The bar he had just entered was an interesting cross between a stylish western restaurant and a classical high class Japanese _isakaya__1_. Dark wood and white paper where the major component in the interior design, though the tables were western style. The decoration ranged from bonsai trees, to wall scrolls featuring different calligraphy works, to aquaria. The light, not too bright, was pleasant, giving the place an overall cultivated, yet cozy ambiance. The guests seem to match that style. Western cloth were worn, yet not the penetrative colors one could see in downtown Harajuku or Shibuya. All in all a place Brad Crawford felt comfortable with.

"Good evening and welcome Sir! What may we do for you? Table for one or are you expecting guests?" the waiter at the entrance register greeted him.  
"Well, actually I am here to meet with my:" with his free hand he reached inside his jacket pulling out the photo of his target. For the merest second he again studied the features of the portrait woman until he continued slowly: "…with my fiancé. Is she here already?"  
The waiter also briefly glanced at the photo. Misinterpreting Crawford's slight hesitation while looking at the photo - a photo of a stunningly beautiful Lady in his opinion - and seeing the bouquet in the other man's hand he did not question the stated reason for seeing one of their guests and let the new arrived visitor into the restaurant: "This way please Sir. She has already been with us for over an hour. I hope she will not be to displeased with your late arrival."  
"Well, we will see how pleased she will be with me, won't we?"

The blond flowing hair of his quarry was well visible within these premises frequented mostly by the dark haired natives of this country. He spotted her at the far end of the divided room sitting at a small table for two, her back naturally to the wall, absently staring into nothingness, and contemplating matters of unknown importance with a single glass of red wine in front of her. For the short moment it took the pair to cover the distance to the table he had time to admire her regal appearance. The wine red sleeveless tunic and almost obscenely short black skirt seemed to fit her naturally, completed by her high heeled boots that reached up till mid calf.

Long though that moment did not last. Almost too fast they had reached the table. Fast enough not to be noticed by the blonde women before the moment they stood in front of her.  
"Isn't this a lovely night for the two of us meeting, Ms. Bouquet? Do you mind me joining you for the evening?"

The flawless French the Gentleman had used the waiter could not comprehend, the slight graceful bow he watched in awe. He just hoped that everything went well with that seemingly perfect couple. Joy surely hadn't been the expression on the woman's face upon seeing her 'fiancé'.

* * *

(1) A Japanese pub or bar. To meet with people, eat, drink and chat.

* * *

Author's Note: Vers. 1.05. A few mistakes and formatting has been corrected. Nothing else. 

If you liked it please tell me. If not please, too. Even flames will be appreciated.(hey I am Desperate)

There is now a fanart for this chapter courtasy to my friend Panda-chan.  
You can find it at over my profile. 


	4. Nightly Chitchats

Disclaimer:

Hey, this is the third chapter. So if you are:  
a) still reading this story (for the various reasons – e.g. you read the previous chapters),b) still thinking I claim the characters or settings in this story to be mine and  
c) also trying to gain profit from it, which  
d) you find intolerable and  
e) think I should be severely punished for (or at least be sued for the money)

I have the options of:  
a) Ignoring you.  
b)Assuring you yet again, that you are completely mistaken, because this piece of fan fiction was created only for personal entertainment and in no way was meant to infringe on the rights of the respective owners.  
c)Wondering what the "§$"& you did until you got to this point, and/or what kind of retarded moron or lawyer you are to sincerely believe in the above.

Combine as you like.

* * *

There Can Be Only Two – a Weiß Kreuz/Noir crossover Fanfiction by the one known as the SilentHypoCrit (at least around the 22nd of October 2005) 

Also hosted at the moment under th same nick at:

www.animexx.de

A FanArt for Chapter Two can be found over my profile.

(#) foot notes - see end of chapter

§ formatting characters indicating a break or change of scenerie. FF won't allow anything else, or I am just to stupid to figure out formating as I would like.

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Nightly Chitchats**

The night sky over Tokyo was bright, but not because it was a full moon night. Actually the bright yellow satellite accompanying the planet, origin of countless myths and dreams, could not be seen at all. It was the light of the millions of street lamps, neon signs, the light of the metropolis itself, reflected by the low hanging clouds, that was bathing the city, making this night brighter than any star lit night could ever have been. Though silent it was not.  
While in most parts of the city only the never resting sound of traffic could be heard, here the ambient sound of cars intertwined with the sound of metal clashing with concrete and metal clashing with metal, yet nothing else.

The one knife he had dodge had been followed by several others. Non had hit so far, either hitting concrete or being deflected with his own blade. The origin of the attacks was apparently moving around the big flat roof, hiding behind the air-condition exhaust, the water tanks and skylights strewn across the roof. He did not mind though. He liked to play as well.  
Another blade appeared out of the dark. It hit. That, too, he did not mind. Absently he pulled the knife out of his upper arm. A crippling blow, but not to him. He briefly inspected the weapon. A long thin blade, double the length of its handle, a ring connecting both, no decoration or anything else. A perfect throwing knife he mused tucking the knife away and reconcentrating on his unseen enemy. A second blade headed for him. This time it tore into his upper thigh. A wound that would have brought anyone to his knees. Farfarello tore it out and placed it with the first one, intensely staring into the semidarkness with his one eye.

"Very impressive!" sounded a feminine voice over the roof. "It might be harder than expected to kill you! You are Schwarz indeed!"

Another blade flew over the roof. Farfarello watched the knife he had thrown towards the source of the sound disappear into the shadows, forcing his assailant out of it. In the soft ambient light he could make out his opponent for the fist time, as the obviously female figure jumped out the way.  
A long dark turquoise cape flattered behind her, revealing a black bodysuit she wore underneath, complemented with several leather straps for protection or fastening weapons. But most prominently shone her dark red almost purple hair in the low light as she rolled from her dodge, coming to a halt in a kneeling position, on hand resting on the ground the other hidden within the folds of her coat. Unmoving for the moment, her face hidden between her low hanging bangs and the high collar of the cape with only her eyes shining out from underneath. Farfarello just returned her stare.

§

No sound could be heard out of room 202 other than the faintest hint of someone slowly yet steadily breathing. Someone sleeping.

"All to easy, all to easy." Schuldig whispered to no one particular. He went past the bathroom door towards the sleeping area of the room. The girl was lying in the bed closest to the window as he had expected. The barrel of a silenced gun in her hand, pointing at him, though, he had not. "Shit" was the only thing he could utter. The bullet hit the wall behind him. It would have hit him straight between the eyes had he not let himself fall and roll back towards the door . That saved his life, but did not gain him much breathing space. The shot was followed by three others instinctively fired into his direction. He answered them with two rounds from his own gun, preventing anyone in the room to gain access to the entryway without getting hit.

The sound of his gun rang loud and powerful through the confinement, in strong contrast to her silenced ones, accentuating the gaping difference between the two enemies even more. Schuldig ducked into the bathroom. Pressing himself to the wall separating the hygiene cell from the sleeping area, he extended his senses. He could feel her somewhere in the room, somewhere close. Behind him. Her back pressed to the same wall he was.

"Shouldn't a young girl be asleep by know?" his voice rang not through the air but the mind of his target. An answer he did not get.  
"Why so serious little one? You have no chance anyway? I will come to you and I will kill you! No need to play the heroine here." he formed, not only projecting those words and letting them ominous reverberate inside her head, but sending them together with an image of himself standing over her dead body.

"I have got you and there is no way out for you!", the comment was accompanied by mockery and derision.

Schuldig moved. A wink to fast. His elbow hit one of the perfume viols on the shelf over the sink next to him. It fell spinning. Bouncing off of the edge of the white porcelain basin as if made out of rubber, not fragile glass, it gave off a single loud tone.  
The same instance the sound filled the room he could feel her move. Away from the wall, turning towards it. He tried to stop her, flooding her senses, trying to grasp her mind. But there was nothing to grasp. For a moment Schuldig wondered at her. She had thoughts yes, she had a mind yes, a complex one with many hidden abysms. But at the moment they were not controlling her actions. Something else was. 'Running on pure instinct. A perfect Killer', he marveled for the fraction of a moment. Than she shot. The bullets of her Berretta, even though slowed by the silencer, had no problems tearing through the thin wood and plasterboards of the wall while heading very accurate for the probable location of the noise's cause.  
Inside the bathroom the spinning viol hit the floor shattering into a thousand pieces.

§

"Yes impressive indeed, Farfarello! Eszett has chosen you wisely for this." The words carried with them nothing but the faintest traces of joy and excitement. Farfarello's only reaction to the statement was a questioning tilting of his head.  
"You seem surprised. Well they could not have told you of course." she continued insouciantly. "But I am not here to tell you that."

Still nobody had moved. Ready they were but something held them back as they stared at each other. Eventually Farfarello did something that he did not very often, he asked something:  
"There is indeed one thing I would like to know. What is Eszett's role in all of this?"  
"That should be nothing for you to be concerned about. But maybe I can talk to you a little, IF in return first you can tell me where the rest of Schwarz is."

That moment the sound of breaking glass and gunshots could be heard from down below. The two opponents though were not distracted.

"Well that should be Schuldig hunting the girl. Crawford is looking for the other woman in town. Satisfied?" sitting down like a monkey on a handle Farfarello tilted his head to the other side waiting for her reaction. A few more shots could be heard while Chloe quickly moved to the edge, with merely a glance took assessment of the situation down below and returned her attention to her adversary.

"And you were waiting for me?" Farfarello only nodded. "Well thank you. That indeed, makes things less complicated."  
If in that moment someone had asked the Irish man, what his impression of the girl in front of him was, he might have said, beaming and happy – but no one was asking.

"It is kind of a waste to tell you since I will have to kill you afterwards anyway, but the teams are already equal and I think I like talking to you. Kind of funny isn't it?" A slight smile appeared on her face. Not malevolent but a genuine one, making Farfarello smile as well in agreement, despite the fact that the smile was implicating his own demise, but who was he to complain about a strange sense of humor.

"So what is the deal?" he simply asked. Slowly Chloe got up and jumped on top of one of the water tanks sitting down on the edge and crossing her legs:  
"Actually that is pretty easy to explain."

§

"I suppose I do not have to introduce myself to you, do I?"  
"No…You certainly do not! Mr. Crawford." she confirmed his assumption with slight hesitation in her voice yet with astounding control: "Please sit down."

"I will, but before let me present to you these. Don't worry, they are really nothing more than exquisite flowers. I had them picked out by an old acquaintance of mine. One that would never allow harm to a beautiful woman." With those words and he gracefully stepped around the table a let her take the still wrapped bouquet.

She was a real cat Crawford noted. From the moment on she had seen him she had tried to find an opening, an exit a weak spot, intensifying her alertness when he came closer and turned over the supposed flowers, carefully observing every motion of him. But not franticly, not like a mouse cornered by a cat would have done, shivering and shaking. The changes in her behavior were no more than subtle, her face had – if changed at all – turned even friendlier towards him, yet her appearance told Crawford's trained eye that one mistake, one opening would be his doom.

Accepting the flowers, but not opening them, she smiled pleasantly:  
"Oh I am sure that good acquaintances of yours is masters of his art, but you should not have. I will have to leave soon again."  
He smiled: "Yes I just heard that you were residing in the area, so I decided to drop by and have a nice chat with you concerning the two of us. But before we start with business…. the wine you drinking… Can you recommend it?"

Without a break or inquiring more about what kind of business the supposed stranger was referring to she replied: "Well it is nothing extraordinary. Though it is a pleasant surprise to find an establishment in this country that is not committing the atrocity of serving its red wines cooled down, but at pleasant 15 degrees Celsius. But why don't you try for yourself." Without turning her eyes away from Crawford she addressed the still present waiter in flawless Japanese: "Please bring us an open bottle of this 1995 Merlot" pointing to her own glass: "and another glass for the gentleman."  
"Any other request Madam?"  
"No thank you that would be all for now!" Mireille smiled. Crawford smiled. Together they sat in silence until the waiter returned.

§

'That was too close for comfort!' Schuldig thought lying in the bathtub. Above the rim the room's back wall sported several bullet holes. 'Seems it's time to get serious. No more Mr. Nice Telepathic Guy. Every thing you can do I can do better, isn't it?' Again extending his senses he aimed and fired over the rim. While the 9mm Beretta bullets had had no problems cutting through the wall, his magnum caliber literally ripped the thin material to shreds littering room and bath with plaster dust and pieces of wall. Again he marveled how she was able to dodge the unnaturally accurate shots raining through the wall, for he obviously did not hit her and it couldn't be just sheer luck.

But there was nothing else she could do. There was almost nothing in the adjacent room to protect her from the magnum bullets that tore through the wall and the beds. If she stayed in the room eventually he would hit her and the only way to the exit let by the bathroom door.  
"What know, little girl? Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide?" again seemingly in control he just couldn't stop himself from playing with his victim despite the difficulties so far. As an answer he was again forced to duck back into the bathtub while projectiles rained through the wall heading for him.  
"Wasting bullets, huh?"

She did not. Again he tried to stop her. This time with a couple more bullets. It did not work. He rushed out of the bathtub back into the room. The curtains were fluttering in the wind that flowed through the broken window. 'I can't belive it. That crazy bitch jumped out of the window' Schuldig just could admire the recklessness the girl had shown to escape a seemingly hopeless situation. Neither wanting to get shot while taking a look out of a window she knew him to appear at, nor to lose her, he did the next best thing. 'Everything you can do…huh?' He jumped after her head first out of the window.

As Schuldig had expected she had been waiting for him a little down the street. Too far away for his senses to notice her, too far for most people to surely aim a hand gun at a person in a second story window. Not too far for the petite girl with the short black hair. Two shots were fired the moment he flew out of the window. One went straight through the broken frame. The second one, already having been adjusted to a falling target instead of a steady one, tore through his pants; only grazing, but also distracting him. Even in midair the falling man had returned the fire forcing her to seek cover. But instead of elegantly flipping forward and landing in a crouch, he crash-rolled onto his back too close to the building across the small alleyway leaving him staring up at the night sky while his legs were pointed skywards leaning against the wall.

'Damn. This must be looking so really fucking stupid' he thought to himself absently firing another round in the direction he had seen the girl disappear. Schuldig got up, casually inserting a new magazine into his gun. 'Oh well, why not a little fox hunt by night. Let's see how many bullets you took with you and how long you can last. A gun you might have, but I can't imagine it being very pleasurable walking around in pajamas and without shoes on a February night, even in Tokyo.

§

The wine was served and carefully poured. Crawford took a nip carefully testing the bouquet.  
"What do you think?"  
"Yes indeed a very good choice. Ms. Bouquet. You seemed to be experienced in this particular area." Crawford's smile mirrored Mireille's, "But I think we are both aware that you true talents do lie with another craft. And I am particularly interested in other parties that have shown appreciation for your services quite recently."  
"Mr. Crawford.""Brad, please! I insist!" he interrupted her:  
"Then please call me Mireille as well, Brad. But as I was trying to say, you should be well aware of the fact that even if I could give you that information I have no reason to comply with your request." Crawford faked a frown and continued in playfully hurt tone:  
"Oh Mireille don't be that mean. The two of us should be beyond that point and your friend Chloe has been so much more helpful than you."

If the name had caused any reaction, Mireille did not let it show yet she asked:  
"Chloe? She is here?"  
"Well she was so nice to write us a letter, depositing it at your hotel. How do you think I we found you so quickly. We are good, the best there is maybe but even we cannot point a finger on the map of Tokyo and pick the right bar or find the real names of the infamous Noir on the net, especially when they were hired to kill us. Anyway it seems like she has personal interest in Schwarz clashing with you two." He ignored a silent whisper from her and continued unperturbed: "I was curious as to why a young woman like her would give away the cover and location of the persons she seems to be protecting at the same time."

"Protecting?"  
"Well while we are speaking Farfarello - I assume you are aware of all our current members - is facing her on your hotel's rooftop, equally dividing our forces. One might say that her behavior is rather interesting. So maybe we can exchange some information here to satisfy our – possible mutual – curiosity."  
"Hm. If Chloe is here…" she said more to herself than to the man across the table. Carefully she studied his face, evaluating the given information. Crawford only waited. "Ok. Brad! Maybe we can really exchange some information here." she finally stated: "Beyond that... we will see about that later. What do you say?"

Without breaking anything Crawford simply stated: "Sounds reasonable enough. Please continue!"  
"You mentioned that she, Chloe that is, seems to have been planning our meeting on equal terms with the possibility of killing one another."  
"Well that at least is my impression. In addition she mentioned a person called Altena with whom together she has interest in our meeting." he agreed, waiting for her to continue:

"We have encountered her before and the name Altena has been mentioned as well. Her or their intentions for us are not clear. Though setting us up would fit the pattern…. One weak ago we received this contract through the usual channels so there is no use in asking for the clients, we do not know either… though, now I have a suspicion. What was unusual about …shall we say Your case… were the mass of detailed information we received from the client, especially concerning your special talents, but also your organization, habits, enemies etc. Status as of roughly six months ago. The hotel booking and fake identities came with it and appeared safe enough at that time." She paused as if to carefully evaluated how to continue: "The… idea for the first hit, eliminating the worst threat - at least in the eyes of the assessor or assessors - came also with the briefing. I think they left out some details to identify our targets completely. Details concerning your personal history for example. And having the pleasure of meeting you, especially you Brad Crawfort, the same evening as a result to our hit was not in the book, I assure you." Crawford only nodded in agreement.

"Summarizing: there is not much that we and especially our unknown client do not know about you. So whoever you pissed off this time must have been pretty powerful or at least very good informed about you. So much for my side of this deal, but I don't think that have been too many surprises for you, especially taking Chloe's interference and her role in all of this into account."

"Do you have second thoughts about…?" The question was never finished.

She regarded him with a grim smile accompanied by a little sniff: "Dou you expect me to have a reason?" She too paused, coldly regarding him with her blue eyes: "I think other options here should depend on you ability to create an acceptable scenario befitting us both. Maybe you could start by being able to supply some information that may be related to all of this."

"Sure, what do you inquire? Though, I as well, would like to hear a little bit more about that suspicion concerning your client."  
"Befitting That, actually, would be one and the same topic: What do you know about an organization called Soldats?"

§

"Soldats," Cloe began looking down on Farfarello, "is an organization that has been influencing and manipulating the underworld on this planet for a long time." Her soft playful voice drifted down to the now cross-legged sitting man, together with her relaxed demeanor giving the impression of an older sister telling a bed time story to her younger sibling:

"Soldats' particular goals and reasons are of no importance here, though you should be informed that your own Eszett itself was originally nothing more than a sub-organization of Soldats. A very independent one and maybe a little too autonomous, since there have been …shall we say discrepancies about certain topics between the two organizations, especially the goals and methods of Eszett, with whom you should be more familiar than I am. The momentary status though is quite…disputable. But before I continue with the relations I think I need to tell you about something else."

She paused. Another person might have wanted to asked where she was going with this tale but not Farfarello. He just began to absently play with his knife again and continued listening, his only reactions a blinking of his one eye from time to time:

"Noir. A name ordained in the past. Two maidens who rain over death. May your black hands in the fields of green protect the newborn's peace. That is a prayer Altena has taught me a long time ago, and that is what she wants to create. One true Noir. Two persons to bring death upon the unlawful to protect the innocent. A perfectly crafted sword to be wielded by Soldats. A goal which you are part of."

Had it been Schuldig to hear those words he would have probably made some sappy comment along the lines of: "Yeah, yeah. Fighting fire with fire. Killers to bring justice to the world where the law cannot. bla, bla. Heard it all before. Know some guys doing the same. Basically they suck. Here let me give you their number if you don't want competition and leave me out of your little game." Farfarello though only nodded and made a little chirping noise in acknowledgement.

"The two making up Noir have to be perfect in every aspect. But to craft such perfect weapons, equally perfect tools are needed, tools to work against the unpolished raw material to form the most beautiful of brilliants. Many of Soldats have been used for that purpose. Be it some lowly henchmen or the paranormal elite of Eszett. You, all of Schwarz that is, particular were chosen to be one of the final tools to craft and test the chosen. You are the hardest and most accurate tools. It is no coincidence that your team has been named Schwarz. A little historical reference if you will. In all of history Germany and France have clashed again and again on the battlefield and elsewhere, bringing hardship, ruin, and misery to their people, yet in the end also forming two of the most powerful nations on this planet. It was only befitting to give you the same name as the jewel you will help to craft. Noir, Schwarz, in the end black is black.(1)"

During the last part of her explanation Chloe had changed. Not much, but in addition to the controlled killer, that had been there before, now there was a gross cross between an exited schoolgirl, a religious zealot, and still a very dangerous person sitting upon the water tank. Farfarello did not mind:  
"So what is your role in all of that?" he simply asked.

"I am the true Noir. Or at least one half of the whole. I am here to direct this forging for Altena, to control the tools and the unpolished stones, but sadly how does the saying go: You cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs."  
"So you expect us to die?"

She though for a moment, acting like a schoolgirl asked to answer a math question, acting…cute…even if cute was a word nonexistent in Farfarello's vocabulary. "Ye pretty much. Though as I wrote you, I hope that you won't die too fast, that would kind of ruin the point of the whole game. Maybe not all of you will die, but in the end there will be only two to form the one true NOIR." The cheeriness in her voice was almost eerie.  
"Does it matter that we left Eszett some time ago?"

Again she contemplated for a moment only to reply in the same manner as before: "Nope. Why should it matter for the task at hand?"  
"Okay." It was the same kind of "Okay" someone might have given as acknowledgement for the fact that another person was running ten minutes late for a meeting or something alike. "So what now?"

"Well. The teams are evenly matched. Everything is working fine. I have told you the story. And explained the mechanics somewhat." Chloe counted with her fingers: "Well I guess that leaves thanking you for listening to me since it has been a pleasure to have you as an audience," Farfarello nodded slightly, "and last but not least killing you since that is what I have to do in the first place, for I would not qualify as the true NOIR otherwise. Though only with reluctance, as I have to admit, which is rather unusual. Anyway…" lightly she hopped down from her seat facing Fafarello: "Are you ready?"

Standing up he readied his knife and only slightly bent his head in agreement.

And they began.

§

"Well, I hope that satisfied your curiosity. Mine it did by the way." Crawford finished his recount of information told elsewhere: "Does that change anything?"

"I don't know, Brad, you don't suppose there are things you forgot to explain? I was kind of left with the impression that you are the guy to do so."  
All faked pleasantries had disappeared from her voice, replaced by a cold hard business tone: "Like for example why I got the impression that you were getting prompted. It did not sound like you really knew something about Soldats."

"Ok Mireille. Besides that you are right, lets end this game and decide how to proceed." As the French's, his voice as well had suddenly changed from amused and almost playful to something incomprehensible, firm, even hasted, yet not aggressive. He halted, looking in between her and the still wrapped flowers before continuing: "I do not know what you truly feeling about all this. I can only hope." Again he pause.

"After you have heard what I have to say, I will be waiting outside for your decision. Take all the time you want to decide, but I fear that there will not be any other choices for you. You will have make a decision, on way or another. Now please listen…"

Sadly the waiter shook his head as the tall dark haired man made his way to the exit. It did not seem as if the evening had gone well with the two. There had been no fight between them, but seeing the blonde beauty sitting there lost in her thoughts, and the unreadable mask of the departed guest did not bode well.

* * *

(1) Or did anyone really believe, that international operating Eszett would care about, what some silly Japanese vigilant group calling themselves Kritiker at the other end of the world did, and name their team in opposition to those lousy Weiß guys?

* * *

Well does it get interesting? I at least hope so. After this there will be kind of an interlude giving an explanation about how exactly this story will be coming to "an" end. 

Drop me a review if you have the time, won't you.


	5. Interlude Lanes to Anywhere

**Interlude: Lanes to Anywhere**

Slowly Brad Crawford walked out the door and turned towards a little alley next to the restaurant. Alone in the small gloomy side street he carefully he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small silver etui, extracting a white cigarette, and equally elegantly igniting it with a exquisite looking lighter, taken from another pocket. Inhaling some of the blue smoke he watched the warm glimmering tobacco at the end of the cigarette and thought about the events to unfold.

Some people might surely disavow, that some of the ideas and concepts going around in his head would even cross the mind of Brad Crawford, but keeping the obscure interior of his precognitive mind separated from outer appearance up to the point that even his psychic friend Schuldig only had seen mere shadows of the real Brad Crawford, was one of the things he was proud of.

Though who exactly was Brad Crawford, he mused, absently looking up into the glooming sky trying to see beyond it. Maybe the destinies, if there indeed entities like those existed, had to choose who Brad Crawford was on this night, or what he had said and done before. As they had maybe chosen the paths for all of them, all of humanity in this world even. Had to? Or did they enjoy it? To play with them as they saw fit for unknown reasons.

Maybe only for entertainment. Letting people meet and clash to see what would happen, deciding, that there was none of them to survive this night.

Or they might as well rule in favor of their enigmatic opponents, seeing Schwarz as the inferior assassins and tweaking all odds, and even their own motives, feelings and personalities, against them, wanting to see them utterly defeated and brought down by those women. He shuddered the according images crossed his mind. Images that were replaced with scenes from quite the opposite alternative.

Absently he brushed off some ash of the end of the glowing stick and smiled at the silly thought of some higher entities being on their side, looking down on and guiding them, following their every move and thought. Being his heavenly fan girls or boys or whatever they were.

Of course fans always had different opinions about their 'stars' and fan girls (and boys) usually had a creative imagination, too. Yet if the destinies, really existed and were in fact really anything like fan girls (and boys) he had heard of, the consequences of this night might even go into a completely different direction. Horrific maybe, maybe extraordinary, or maybe simply completely absurd.

Drawing in the last smoke from the cigarette he flipped away the still glowing cigarette butt, watching it's parabolic arc through the dark.

Keeping his eyes on the small puddle where the orange fire had faded away with a low sizzle he continued to wait for whatever would conclude this night.

* * *

PLEASE READ THIS!

This part is not really part of the story itself, it is not necessary at all, but it has been an explanation and hint at how this story is going to end. If you understood the meaning of it, got it otherwise, or do not want to get spoiled (yet with the slight danger of getting confused) you do not need to read on.

* * *

NOT NECESSARILY THIS!

Just one more idea: you could wait for what will come next and maybe than read what comes below. Or you could read on a little and than stop to wait for what is next.

* * *

So you are really sure about wanting to know?

OK have it your way. But it is not my fault. The explanation is needed, I fear. Tell me if you disagree, even though by than it is to late.

What I did here was exploit Brad do a little kind of "in-story" explanation of how things will work from here.

To be exactly: this story does not have one ending but four and one-third (4 1/3). So far that is.

For the moment the working titles of those endings are:

**Ending I: No man's land**

(Ending I alternate: There will be always two)

**Ending II: The French Connection **

**Ending III: Power of Schwarz **

**Ending IV: Soap Bubbles**

They are all a different conclusions to this story, except for "There will be always two, the 1/3 endings. That one is a little special I wrote for my Friend/Beta-reader/FanArtArtist/the-one-that-caused-all-this-mess Panda-Chan and is not a stand alone as the rest but an alternate ending for alternate ending I (little confusing isn't it?)

You can choose to finish this story with only one of them.

For Schwarz fans who do not like OOC very much I recommend to read only ending III, and leave it at that.

If you favor the French maidens though, or want to read about them, too. Chapter II is your choice.

I warn you of ending I - as it is a dark one - and of chapter IV as a fitting adjective to describe it would be "cheesy".

But the way I would like you to read them, as well as to enjoy them is the order I listed them, as it is the order they were written to work together.

AND READ CHAPTER IV THE LAST! (it is the last for a reason even though it might be cheesy)

How can this work and why I did it? I don't know if it will work out, maybe you can tell me.

In the beginning it was a merely the problem of deciding on an ending, long before the first chapter was finished. I just got too many cool ideas to finish the story (at least in my opinion they are pretty cool) and I did not want them to go to waste. But to release the same story three or four times to finish it? Yet just writing four quite different ending with the same story while still being plausible? From that point on I for once wrote the chapters as to befit all of them. There are some details left open and some other things hidden in the story that might have different interpretations. Or all the same?

At first I tried an explanation for the endings with quantum physics, parallel timelines and really big coincidences. But it was just too confusing and did not serve a real purpose. So how can one and the same people go such different ways? Simple. They are not the same people, as Bread said. By choosing an ending, you all so choose a different character one that might have had different experiences in life, just went another way last week or just the evening, or made another decision in the heat of battle that night. They are only slightly different. But you will figure out in what ways they might and might not. It's up to you.

Suggestions for timing of the release of the endings?


	6. Ending I: No man's land

Disclaimer: This is the End, the end my friend. At least on of them, the first to be released and still without the direct permission of the respective creators of the characters used in this piece of fanficion.

() foot notes

**

* * *

**

**Ending I: No man's land**

Crawford had returned to the main street and was waiting for her under a nearby streetlight when the blond woman stepped out of the door, carrying the sealed bouquet with her. A short leather jacket, tight fitting and matching her skirt in color and style, now hid her red tunic and protected her from the cold February night.

No one spoke a word and no one needed to, eyes saying all that was to be said. Together they walked off through the silent streets. Side by side as if tied to one another, yet distant and on their own, separated by something spanning more than the few centimeters of air between them.

Past seemingly endless rows of vending machines and parked cars, an illusion of walking on endless conveyer belts never to reach a destination, always to see the same, again and again. Maybe they wished this walk to last forever, to go on and on, never changing from day to day, boring but steady. But it had to end.

All too soon a small park had replaced the never changing cars and streetlights. A dark corner within the glowing metropolis that was Tokyo. Protected by old big, almost menacing trees, and tall hedges, concealing the little lake in the center of the park - a small body of water lined with plum trees in early bloom already proving that winter was almost over. But until late spring night frost could always return and destroy the small precious blossoms.

In broad daylight this might have been a pleasant, even beautiful place, where children played and young lovers happily strode together on their first date. But here on this starless night it was a lonesome desperate place. They stopped at the shore – the lawn separated from the water by a thin evenly stone block - each staring at dark fluid.

"Is this where it ends?" She asked quiet and melancholy .

"I suppose so." He stated equally thoughtful.

Absently yet carefully she unwrapped the bouquet letting the white wrapping paper drift away in the wind. Two of the flower she removed from the bouquet, the rest she placed carefully on the ground.

"Yellow Roses? For old times' sake? Did you expected me to…" her voice was quite as she fastened the one of the blossoms at his suit over his heart.

"Well, one should never loose hope, isn't it?" he answered equally quiet, taking the other rose from her and also fastening it to her jacket.

"In retro perspective lilies would have been more appropriate, wouldn't they have been?"

He turned away from her. She did the same:

"You know the way this business works! You also know me. You of all the people should have known that it would end this way. But you did come anyway."

"Perhaps I knew, but the future never was set in stone. This was but one possibility and with humans, with…emotions, possibilities are hard to predict."

"What about your friends - if they are your friends - have you told them anything? Would they understand why we are doing this?"

"The same I could ask about you and the girl. She was not with you back than. But no. Even though they are very close friends indeed I have not told them. I could not. This is a matter apart from them. This is between you and me only. And I doubt they would understand it."

They stood there back to back, white wool against black leather, black and blonde, yet in the end only dark and dark, black and black Noir and Schwarz. Slowly they reached for their guns.

"You should not have come here, you should have left the moment you received that envelope."

"You as well Mireille, there are not that many Brad Crawfords out there. You did not need to come to Tokyo, nor did you have to play this game with me. Another Brad Crawford might have traveled a different road, but not me. Perhaps another Mireille Bouquet, too, might have decided on another course of action."

She only nodded in agreement even though he could not see her. Slowly they separated. She sighted:

"There is nothing that could have been done about it. It was not meant to be."

Another step was taken by each.

"You know, I have a friend that would probably accepted this simply on the pretence that we are only killers and thus is our fate. To be slain by each other."

And another step.

"Are we, Brad? Is this what heartless indifferent killers would be doing?"

And another.

"Maybe, maybe not. But it doesn't matter. It was a wonderful evening. I was wonderful meeting you again."

Separated by three meters they stopped.

"You, too, Brad. Do you think there will be a better next.

"I hope there is."

"Good bye Brad!"

"Good bye Mireille!"

Two shots rang through night as one in a cacophony of pain. In the silver rays of moonlight that broke through the clouds the petals of two yellow roses slowly sank to the ground.

§§§

The streets apart from the major transport routes and shopping streets were dimly lit and even less traveled this time of the night. Nobody to disturb the hunt that had been cutting through the area for quite some time now. A hunt between a red headed foreigner in a white leisure suit and a young Japanese girl clad only in pajamas, both sporting guns. Bullets were exchanged hitting walls, fences, lamp poles, missing their intended targets by mere millimeters.

The roles of hunter and prey, though, were not clearly assigned.

An ignorant mind probably would have suspected the foreigner to be the perpetrator and the girl to be the victim, a constellation that might have had been true in the beginning.

A master of the martial arts might have had another opinion, being concerned with another aspect: He could have marveled at the sheer inhuman abilities of the two to move and to fight, like jumping over the low walls of suburban homes while blindly shooting backwards and yet forcing the other party to doge a near hit while at the same time avoiding an equally accurate bullet heading for their vital parts. And they were fast, very fast.

Yet a true master of another art, above anything else, would have been astounded by the prowess both girl and man showed in the particular skill of hunting, the art of trying to be undetected in one, and fast and aggressive the next moment. A master of the art of hunting though still would have had problems to determine whether the girl was luring the man, pretending weakness as the bait and only in the most subtle manner, or if the man was indeed in absolute control of every move of his victim, leaving her only the impression of a free will and hope for a chances to escape. If escape was what she wanted, or wasn't it?

'Four, second magazine' Schuldig counted another bullet passing by his ear. 'Seems like the damn brat thought to bring some ammunition and obviously does know how to use them wisely. On the other hand…hey what am I complaining about. Best thrill I had in a while!'

He stopped at another corner. At the moment the girl was again out of his mental reach and he had to rely on other means to locate her. In the distance he could hear noises of people that had been awakened by gunshots ringing through their neighborhood. But since the origin had since moved on quickly, this part of town was still asleep and unaware of the events outside their front doors. Yet he could hear no tell tale sounds from the girl either. Be it running, breathing, reloading. Carefully he took a quick look around the corner. Nothing there. It was a dead end. Though instead of another building at the end of the short alignment of family homes, there was a playground surrounded by a low decorative wall in a classical Japanese style blending in with the medieval theme of the playground.

Quickly he moved into the alley, along the row of houses, making absolutely no sound to give away his presence to his unseen prey. And then he could feel her again. Again he knew her position. Her remarkable state of mind could only let him guess that she was waiting for a noise from him, waiting to come out and shoot him. But he would not give her that. He had loved hide and seek when he was young, even though for him it had been more fun with seek than hide. For a moment the playground setting let nostalgic feelings rise up in his mind - feelings a long time not felt, but he quickly pushed them aside.

The present was now. And now he was close to finishing this long yet entertaining game. He almost felt a little reluctant to do so.

Still inaudible he crouched behind the low wall outside the playground. He could feel her behind the perhaps 1 meter high obstacle, doing the same, still unaware of his presence, waiting for a cue an indicator where to expect him from, a warning that would never come. At least not in way useful for her:

"Long time no see! How has it been going? Are your little feet hurting from running around without shoes and all?" Scare her he did not. At least in no way he could tell. There hadn't been a single noise from the other side indicating that the voice in her head had had any effect at all. "My, my, aren't you a tough little girl. The big bad telepath is coming to get you and you are not even crying for….you are not crying."

For a moment he wondered why a derogative reference to her parents had seemed to be strangely inappropriate, but continued never the less:

"Oh. Well I guess it was nice playing with you and all, but it has to end. And slowly it's getting boring. Don't you agree?" He got no answer.

"Its all repeating. I mean here again we are sitting back to…"

Realizing his mistake he jumped up spinning around at the same time. In slow-motion he could see her hair coming up from behind the wall as well, slowly followed by her eyes. Those big reddish-brown eyes that Nagi must have seen in the last moments of his life, big longing eyes that again stirred something inside his heart, something that was quickly forgotten.

With her upper torso also appeared her slender arms and with them the gun. He tried to bring up his own gun, noting at the same time how displaced the cold black metal looked in the hand of this small girl, clad in pink girl's pajamas.

Her face showed emotion for the first time: surprise. The same sort of surprise that must have been on his own. He was fast but not fast enough. She was fast but not faster. Another two shots rang through the air that night. One loud and powerful, the other silenced yet as deadly as the first.

As slowly as her face had come up over the rim of the wall, as slowly it disappeared again. Schuldig admired the beauty of the droplets of blood almost standing in the air as he felt the ground getting closer. Droplets of blood coming from the big hole in the girl's chest that his bullet had torn, but also blood spraying out from his own pierced heart. "Scheiße." he thought more disappointed than angry. He hit the ground hard, yet he felt nothing of it.

'So this is where it really ends. Shot by a little girl.', he mused. 'I have to give it to Crawford. If he had told me that it would end this way I would not have believed him.'

"Do you hear that you old bastard!"

For a last time he reached out to the companion he was so familiar with, far beyond the reach of his mind's eye. But all he got was the image of a blonde women falling to the ground followed by moon shining in the night sky and than nothing more. A moon that also shone on his own form lying there on the asphalt, wondering what his friend Brad Crawford had done to end almost the same way he did. Especially since Schuldig still could not believe the way it had happened to himself. He felt his own mind beginning to slow as the life left him, yet he really appreciate the absence of pain.

"Farf….Farfarello!" The Irish men he could still feel being alive in the distance. "Crawford is gone…..so are the French Lady and the kid….but I fear I, too,…. won't be around much longer. You are the last one."

He paused. Thinking was becoming more and more difficult and breathing impossible.

"Yo Farf there is one more thing I need to tell you….something I never dared to but... I….I have loved you from the first moment I laid my eyes on you... but destiny never meant for us to be together…. good bye my love….." moments past as he could feel Farfarello trying to process the given information. He tried to smirk: "Hey gotcha! Just joking. Don't forget your fight. I just always wanted to say something really corny while dieing. Cu around in the next life." he finished leaving behind the mental image of his trademark grin. And than nothing more.

§§§

The fight on the roof was fast. Very fast, and very dangerous. Like a dance on a razor's edge, where on misstep meant an untimely death, quite literally caused by cold razor sharp steal. Power was countered with speed and dexterity with sheer inhuman viscosity. The final balance between the two dancers had not been tipped so far. But their garments bore heavy evidence of the battle en masse, as did their bodies.

Deep nasty cuts were visible on both opponents, drenching their clothes with own and alien blood, mingling with salty sweat. Rags of Chloe's cape were glued to her body by the red liquid of life where Farfarello's blade had cut through fabric and skin.

Bandages covering older scars on Farfarello's body had long ago fallen to the ground drenched in crimson as well, while his bloody T-shirt was left hanging only partly on his body. Mercy was unknown in this fight as were any rules.

Neither the limp left arm of the girl nor various throwing knifes penetrating the man's body at different angles and locations did prevent them from fighting with a precision and ferocity that was beyond a normal human being. Together with the silver moonlight that broke through the clouds, the gruesome scene of bloodshed on this night had turned into a horrid dance of vividly living dead.

Yet no one had been able to land a decisive blow up until the moment Farfarello suddenly almost stopped, giving Chloe an opening. Not a wide opening, yet a mistake not to survive against a fighter of Chloe's extraordinary level of proficiency.

She did not take the opportunity though. Stopping her knife in mid-swing towards his lower torso she instead jumped off to a safer distance away from him. He did not follow.

His eye still fixated on her, something else held him back, keeping him unmoving.

Waiting for the moment Chloe measured her opponent from toe to head analyzing the behavior of the Irish man standing there frozen in place, blood slowly seeping from several wounds, seemingly absent and lost in thoughts maybe.

After no one had moved for some time with only the unreal sound of blood and sweat dropping slowly to the ground, she finally spoke up, her voice as cold as her face, only belied by the thin trail of vapor rising from her body:

"Another person I might have killed there instantly . I don't know why you did what you did. It was not a mistake you should have made considering the skill you have shown so far. There is no meaning and no challenge in killing an incompetent opponent like that, nor one that has a death wish." Her voice now expressing disappointment and disapproval: "I hope that will not repeat. Next time I won't hesitate. So from now on, please fight to your fullest ability. Nothing less is expected of you."

A reaction she did not get right away, but finally something astray returned and Farfarello once more spoke up.

"Sorry," He apologized with slightly down bent head while scratching it with his free hand, almost like a little boy speaking to his older sister, yet clearly not with the voice of one.

"It won't happen again. But before we finish this" he continued his tone slowly changing: "Maybe there is something you might be interested in. About what is going on tonight. At the moment. Do you want to hear it? Or," He slowly brought the knife up to his head ready to strike, his eyes being reflected in the polished yet bloodstained metal. "shall we end it right away?" he finished, his voice bearing no more trace of apology or shame.

§(1)

"No apology is needed, Farfarello. But this shall end now. There is no more need for talking with a dead man! "

"So be it!"

And for a final time the two clashed with each other. Perhaps with even more ferocity and determination than before. With power and agility contradicting the seemingly crucified state of their flesh. Two people dancing in the moonlight a last dance of death, while the dance floor itself got brighter and brighter with every round and every turn.

Every other color – had there ever been other colors on the endless gray roof up here – slowly had faded into a black and white mass. Every color but red. Color of love and life. Speaking of cruelty and silent agony. An agony that finally ended when in a final spin Chloe's blade cut through Farfarello's throat. Penetrating skin and cartilage, further into the soft flesh, opening esophagus and trachea and most prominently carotid arteries, on exit leaving a trail of crimson hanging in the air as she continued, only stopping when another blade had done the same damage to the man's abandon, leaving her back turned towards him as he slowly sank to his knees and dropped his knife.

Slowly the still standing girl turned around.

"You did not take my advise." She said her head slowly shaking in a strange mixture of disappointment and disapproval. "I warned you not to make further mistakes and yet you did. Rather frustrating but not unexpected."

She looked down on her defeated enemy kneeling in front of her while his life ran down his now bare torso. What she saw there was no fear, no hate not even disbelieve. The one-eyed man just smiled at her. A look that said that everything was OK, but a look that also ridiculed the girl. By any means not a look that should have been on the face of a man with a cut throat and fatal opening in his stomach.

A moment too late she realized why. Why he had be smiling afterwards at her, at her pointing out his supposed mistake and leaving her wide open in front of her enemy. In this grand finale his plan never had been to win, yet it had not been to loose either. Those thoughts went through Chloe's brain as thin metal pierced her own chest and into lung and heart. With agility and strength no dieing human should have possessed he had more stabbed than thrown the blade, her own throwing knife, into her flesh. His outstretched arm only centimeters apart from the handle of the weapon.

As slowly as Farfarello had done before now Chloe sank to her knees in front of him. The hand that had thrown the knife, still outstretched, touched her chin as she went down. Running over the soft skin of her left cheek, leaving a crimson trail on the white flesh before reflexively cupping her whole face as she looked him in the eyes:

"I guess I, too, should have listened to what Altena told me, shouldn't I have?"

He only nodded in agreement to the soft-spoken regret, no longer capable to speak himself.

"Did you intend to die. Did you want me kill you that easily." This time he shook his head, creating effects that were best left un-described.

"No you did not. But I was too fast, an inch too deep, wasn't I? The wound on your belly you would have survived, but not the cut on your throat. You dared and you lost. As did I." she mused and again he bend his head forward in agreement.

"This is surely an interesting turn of events. It was nice fighting with you." Absently Chloe looked up at the sky while she could feel his hand still on her cheek:

"Bright moon! On a starlit night, please wash away the darkness." were her last melancholic words.

And the moon did her bidding. The silvery rays illuminated the two people, as together they sank to the ground and lay there side by side in slowly growing pool of blood on this roof somewhere in Tokyo.

* * *

Authors comments: Well I suppose it has started. The final countdown for this story. I hope you like this ending, even though it is really dark. But don't say I did not warn you, this is for the most part, or the most Endings a Dark story with Ending II and III also not really being happy. For that wait for Ending IV, or take a look into that tiny little alternative Ending I-b I wrote for a friendly Panda. 

(1) If you think that Cloe should have decided otherwise at this point, there is an alternative ending to this ending. There will always be two, thus spoke a panda. - Go on read Ending I-b from this point on

And either way. Comments desperately wanted.


	7. Ending Ib: There will always be two

Disclaimer: Besides that I still do not own any of the Characters you should be familiar with to even read this fan fiction you Should have READ 2/3rds of the real ENDING I for this alternate is just the last part

* * *

**Ending I alternate: There will be always two**

Again time lapsed for the two immobile fighters as Chloe contemplated the offer. Finally she stated in her sweet voice that had become so very familiar for Farfarello even in the short time:

"How considerate. But begging for you life won't gain you anything. There is no mercy to be expected from me and neither should be from you. But otherwise we do not have to hurry. What do you think is important enough to halt our contest?"

And he told her, explaining in a short manner what had occurred to him, reporting Schuldig's last words, more like a reserved news speaker rather than someone telling an enemy about the demise of friends and foes.

"Are there possible consequences for your quest? Otherwise…" he added in the end and without completing the sentence the Irish signaled his readiness to fight.

Chloe's reaction was different though. Impassionedly, yet with a mild distrust she put away the throwing weapon in her left hand and instead reached for a small and thin rectangular metallic device from under her coat. Her eyes never left Farfarello and the knife, too, did not vanish. She only broke the eye-contact for a second to study the device. A blue-whitish glow emitting from the object marked the strange tool as a kind of small computer, or something alike, displaying unseen information , but also creating a diabolic impression as it illuminated her already cold face from below with it's hard light.

Wordlessly she tucked the device away again ending the strange light show.

"You might be right." she emotionlessly spoke: "What about your companions? They were your friends, were they not?" Ignoring the fact that he had posed his question first he answered her: "They were." His intonation or the lack thereof obscured the exact meaning of that statement. Nevertheless he continued: "They knew what they did. Maybe they even got their reasons. God may know and has decided. I am not going to cry for what god did."

"What about the young one?" she inquired.

"Does he concern yourself?" His counter question was not followed by an answer immediately in the same manner as many lines of this strange conversation on the roof had been interrupted by moments of silence and thinking.

"Please follow me!"

Without waiting for him she sheathed her knife, turned around and jumped off of the roof. The blonde Irish hesitate only for a moment and followed her, ignoring the three stories to the ground. Both, girl and man, landed nimbly on the concrete and without a pause they ran off, following a path that was marked - with bullet holes.

The girl leading, the man following at high speeds.

Until Chloe stopped at a corner to a street that was vividly alive with red and blue lights of police cars, again consulting her electronic instrument.

"You wait here!" she commanded after a quick glance at the, neither very Japanese, nor especially friendly looking man that had stopped behind her, and walked towards the small group of people that had gathered in front of the closed off area at the end of the street. She returned two minutes later.

"Come on!" were her only words before setting of.

Again they traveled fast through the night. Chloe leading the way, not hindered in anyway by the fact that she never had been here. Farferello would not have been able to tell the difference anyway. Their destination this time though was not filled with people, but again Chloe told her companion to wait a little offside and keep observant.

He watched her as she walked over to the two bodies at the lake shore, removing guns and wallets, before returning to him.

"Yes indeed you have spoken true. Noir and Schwarz are gone."

Silence followed for some time.

"So does that mean anything for us?" he finally restated his question from earlier. This time she answered immediately her arms hidden underneath her coat rummaging unseen:

"Shouldn't that be obvious?" Slowly Farfarello reached for his weapon and got ready.

"What are you doing?" she asked looking at him questioningly before turning away from him and adding almost nonchalant: "We still got things to do tonight."

This time though the blonde man did not follow, a questioning look on his sideward bent face: "This seems like a good place to die. Why relocate?" He shouted after her not very loud yet expressing his strong dislike of further procrastination and the unspoken demand to face him. Slowly she turned around:

"You don't get it, do you?". While before Farfarello had only been irritated and angry, now he was somewhat perplex.

"No?" he answered, his one eye blinking without understanding.

"All other members of Schwarz are dead." Chloe explained unimpaired. Farfarello nodded. "So are the other two female candidates for Noir." Again he nodded still holding his knife at ready. "That leaves you and me, doesn't it?" A third time he bend his head in affirmation. "So?" Chloe waited a moment for a reaction from him, but when she got none she continued with the explanation.

"They are dead. We live. Ergo it is the two of us that will be the one true Noir. Now come along we have to sort this mess out they left us with."

Farfarello only stood there unmoving and thinking for the moment, prompting the girl to maker her way back to him.

"What about the 'two maidens' part?" he asked her as the smaller girl stood in front of him. She looked up to him for a moment and than just took his arm pulling the taller man with her.

"Oh, that is only an old prayer. Gender discrimination is not of our concern. If Soldats would care about some minor details like that they would still be on Corsica fighting over some sheep and cattle or so. Professional assassins do not grow on trees overnight, you know? So if you see or know any extraordinary highly trained female assassin to form Noir with me tell me, if you would be more happy with that, otherwise please accept and come along. You do not have a job anymore anyway and I am looking forward to be working with you."

Thinking for a last time that night and considering the circumstances Farfarello came to a simple conclusion:

"OK" he agreed and walked off with Chloe into the night.

"And Farfallo!"

"Yes"

"Please take that eye patch off. It does not suit you. I cannot understand why you are covering a perfectly healthy, not to say beautiful, eye, anyway."

He complained throwing the black patch away into the night.

A time later that night a little shop was closing down after a very long day of business. The shop employees were just bringing in the last pieces of merchandise and contemplating about the events of the day gone, when a strange couple came by and stopped for a moment to watch them.

Hands stopped working, heads turned hastily and four pairs of eyes focused on the blonde man with the purple haired girl by his side standing there on the sidewalk.

Chloe and Farfarello looked at them questioningly. After a frozen minute of silence and customary entry and disappearance of the customary dust bunny, finally one of the staff members slowly walked up to them and stared at Farfarello, his face a grim mask, as he tried to figure out the blond Irish that was curiously looking back at him with his head tilted to the side.

After a while he took a quick glance at the merchandise he was still carrying. Repeating that for a few time he finally resigned with a sigh:

"Here! Just take them, and go! Happy Valentine's. We are closing."

Saying those words, fast and without even a trace of friendliness he shoved the whole bundle of beautiful red roses he was carrying into Farfarello's arms, turned around and left, frustrated and sulking. Dragging the rest of staff with him, despite their protests, the tall red head pushed them into the store and shut the door forcefully. A second later the store's shutters went down equally fast and loud, leaving behind two perplex people in a now empty street, while the noises slowly faded in the distance.

The two looked at the store, than at each other, shrugged, and continued.

"What was that all about?" Chloe asked the carrier of the flowers next to her when they had gone a few meters: "Did you know them?"

"No. Not Really. Some old business contacts of ours, I think. Do you want them?" he replied presenting her the roses in a little more formal manner than he had received them.

She smiled at him: "Oh Farf. That is very sweet. No one has ever given me flowers for Valentine's day. Thank you very much."

"No problem."

And they disappeared into the night strolling side by side

Inside the flower shop four young men had problems expressing what was on their minds.

"Was that…"

"I thought…"

"Him, too? Well She was cute, though."

"You have really a strange taste in women, you know."

"Hey, a girl is a girl."

"Shut up, all of you! I don't want to hear anything anymore about those damn guys. Youji, I know you have some, so just get your damn Whiskey down here."

"Hey that's mine why should I…"

"Because otherwise I will deduct the damn flowers from your wage. Now get it!"

"Yes, yes. I am on it."

"Shouldn't we at least have asked?"

"Yes. Did you see those cuts and the blood?"

"No I meant we could have asked about that other guy…"

"Maybe the do that all the time?"

"Just shut up! All of you! No more of that. Where is the "§6 whiskey?"

"Yeah don't you just hate Valentine's anyway."

A little funny I hope it is. Even though it was not in the original planning it has been finished for a long time. Longer than at least Ending II and III. Complains and praise for this little silly outtake should go straight to Panda-Chan. I just wrote it. But I will gladly take comments and praise as well.

Don't get used to the lightness. Next time it is all business again.

Coming up: **Ending II: The French Connection**


	8. Ending II: The French Connection

Disclaimer: Just because I know how picky lawyers can be and because I think in worst case scenarios: These are not my characters, they belong to their respective (even if not always respected) owners.

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** Ending II: The French Connection**

Farfarello was a formidable fighter. Many enemies had found their demise at his viciously skilled hands. And those who had witnessed him in action and got to live that day were left with the impression of a raging berserker, more beast than man. Ferocious and brutal, an unstoppable force of nature. A beast with man made claws of steel.

A petit girl with dark purplish hair was dancing around that beast this night, fast and illusive like a tamer's whip, never too close to the beast to get bitten, yet never too far away. Always ready to strike to keep the beast in check. In her left hand a long and thin metal sheet of a throwing knife, in her right the larger blade, both handled with deadly precision. She was the matador controlling the beast's movement, wounding it little by little, slowly bringing down the mighty bull into the sand of the arena.

This arena, though, had no sand, nor a cheering mass admiring the morbid skill shown upon it. It was a cold and gray concrete roof somewhere in Tokyo, with the red air traffic markers on the city's skyscrapers slowly blinking in the distance and only the weak light of the moon, pushing through the clouds from time to time, to illuminate the end and the beginning.

And in the beginning the two fighters had been equals. Unhurt and fresh they had clashed and often it had seemed as if the smaller body could never withstand the onslaught and sheer power of the stronger man. But she had worn him down, slowly, bit by bit. Careful cuts had severed muscles and tendons, slowly reducing his abilities while blades, he had not torn out, further hindered his movement, sticking out like obscure pieces of body piercing.

But those wounds meant nothing, the beast still thirsted for blood, her blood. Bearing almost no more resemblance to a human being, the lust in the blonde man's eye had gotten even stronger over time, made him wilder, faster, not inhibited by anything she had done up until that moment.

And for the fraction of a second after inflicting another deep wound Chloe could only marvel at the feat the Schwarz member was accomplishing. Wondering for a moment she did not posses, for the beast could all but smell distraction. And Farfarello leaped at her.

The outcome had been unavoidable. But for mistakes a price had to be paid nevertheless.

Slowly Farfarello licked the red stain from his blades a satisfied look on his face as he tasted the red liquid. Like in trance Chloe's hand dropped the throwing knife and reached for the wound that the Irishman's blade had torn. A long deep gash from the lower jaw up across her cheek, already forming a thin line of blood running down her face.

A few minutes past before finally she could not feel anymore movement from her opponent and stopped supporting his weight with her other hand, letting go of the knife that was now deeply buried in the man's chest. Her reflexes had saved her, and they had brought an end to the beast.

Slowly the corps sank to the ground as she began quietly to speak to herself, her eyes focused into nothingness: "You were a strange opponent Farafarello. The first to ever touch me. The first…" Again she traced the gash on her cheek thinking. "Altena won't be pleased for she seeks perfection and by your hand you…I…"

A touch to the wound the man had torn, the place the foreign knife had intruded her flesh, let her shudder inwardly as wave of sickly pleasurable pain ran down her spine, erecting the fine hairs on her neck and letting sink in the feelings the fight had stirred up suppressed in the heat of battle.

"But I am not angry. I should be. With me. I always feared the day this would happen. But now that it has I…."

Not finishing that thought and without moving form the spot she absently reached for one of her pockets and took out some bandaging material, pressing it on the wound.

And with the life of her opponent, so had faded away the light of the moon to again shroud Tokyo in gloom.

A long time past on the now quiet roof before the silhouette of Chloe moved again. Reaching down it picked up an object from the ground, thoughtfully examining it as she held it in front of her. For a moment the blade of a knife, not her own, flashed in the darkness before she tucked it away.

"I will treasure this."

With those soft spoken words flowing through the air the figure disappeared never to be seen again here, leaving behind the slowly cooling bod of a blonde man that was lying in a slowly growing pool of red liquid with Chloe's knife imbedded in his chest.

§§§

Walking hurt, running even more. The wound itself hurt, more than he had thought it would. It might not have been very deep, but the bullet had severed crucial tendons and that together with the slow blood loss was making moving around not the most pleasant activity he had taken part in.

Neither crippled, but not in the best of shape either he had followed the delinquent girl through the night, occasionally exchanging a few shots, but never seeing her for more than a moment. Like a phantom, a mere fragment of his imagination she appeared and disappeared, always at the rough fringe of his stronger sphere of influence but never too close to let him know more than her approximate location. He knew he was being led on, but what could he do? Trusting his honed skills and reflexes to overcome any trap she might prepare for him he had followed.

Along ever changing but never quite distinguishable rows of houses, through a small park and an endless number of cars and power poles. Up to the area he was just entering. Normally the dirt ground would have been ideal for him. A wide open area. A field where he would have had no problem shooting from afar with his magnum caliber while safely out of reach of he 9mm bullets. There was more than on reason why he carried the biggest there was. But it did him no good for the field was not empty as it would have been most year round.

"Figures… can't they just stay traditional?" Schuldig dryly commented the 'balentain matsuri ni irasshaimase' sign that hung over the entrance.

"Welcome to Valentines' Festival my a…". Further ranting was disrupted by another shot coming from somewhere along the now dark and empty rows of booths and stands that occupied the field if even for only one or two days. Booths that during the day sold toys, and flowers, stands for making Okonomiyaki, Yakisoba, Odangos as well as more western style foods, and almost everything else that could be found at any Japanese festival site, providing simple happiness to children and the carefree. But carefree he was not.

Schuldig started to really hate this night. The uneasiness that had befallen him the moment this nightly chase had had started, or - to be more exact - the moment he had lain his mental sight on the girl back at the hotel, had only gotten stronger. And his brain was starting to play tricks on him, making it hard for him to keep the right picture of her in his mind. He was hunting a young woman, but at one time or another he could have sworn he had seen a much smaller girl, one too young to be able to run around, vanish into the shadows of the night. A phantom indeed.

This had to end, and fast! With that in mind he followed after her towards the center of the field, along the empty wood frames. Ready for what ever might come…

In retrospective that had had been the point where he had lost control of this game in the night, if he ever really had had control from the point on she had inflicted that wound on him. Who knew?

They had played hard from the beginning, played a deadly game all the way to this point, but in this field of darkness and gloom, this scene of shadow play performed by the slow wind, the rustling sheets and awnings of the booths, and the far away street lanterns, the stakes had more than risen. Too high for him to gamble on this moonless, starless night under Tokyo's ever illuminated sky.

Had he not been incapacitated, he might have been faster. Had he had a better aim it would never have come this far. Had he known her skill level was on par with his own, so familiar, almost as if indeed a copy of his own - lightning fast, instinctive, deadly… it all did not matter.

The last stage of their game had taken a while, hunting in the shadows, listening for steps, for breaths, for the beats of another heart; anticipating, waiting, moving and again listening. Fifteen minutes? Half an hour? Time had run out nevertheless.

It had ended. And it had ended with him lying in the remains of one of the stands, unable to move, and with blood running out of various wounds. She had won and he had lost. Simple as that. Bested at hide-and-seek, he never had been bested at this, or had he? He wasn't sure anymore.

Besides him the broken remains of a children's puppet was staring at him - left behind merchandise perhaps. A puppet portraying the smiling girl with a red ribbon in her dark hair. For a moment he lost his focus. When he regained it, again a staring motionless face of a girl looked down on him, again dark haired but without a ribbon.

For a last time he let the events of the past few minutes rewind in his head: his first little mistake – firing at a harmless shade - , the return fire from a direction he did not had expected, the second and third wound that night, his own counter shots that did miss and again the lead bullets that had torn another three wholes in his body and had brought him crashing into on of the booths, the place he was now lying in. It all seemed so stupidly insignificant.

"Crawford, you old bastard, was it supposed to end this way?" were his last thoughts.

In the solitary spot of light that shone through the otherwise empty street, the white clad figure of Brad Crawford in the middle stood out even more than the illuminated cone itself, but equally unmoving and accompanied only by the faint noise background of Tokyo. Silent up until something unseen prompted him to speak up:

§§§

"Hello Mireille. It took you quite some time. But you have decided, have you not?" The outspoken words rang through the air and faded into the quiet alley, and once again nothing but slight rustling of wind could be heard. Crawford just remained standing there, back turned towards the entrance.

After what could have been an eternity, a moment frozen in time, something moved. Without a sound and gracefully as a dancer another figure slowly emerged from the deep shadows into the twilight of the alley, yet not stepping close enough to extend more than the tip of a gun into the directly illuminated area.

"What do you think I have decided on, Brad? But then, I think I did not have to ask now, for you surely know, don't you?" A low voice asked, to be answered with an amused voice:

"No, of course not. Would you have expected something else? I regret thou, that I am forced to react upon that decision." At those words the hand holding the gun tensed up. "I hope you can live with the consequences." With those words Crawford instantly turned around, the right hand reaching inside his suit.

The sound of a single gun shot reverberated from the walls.

Smiling Brad Crawford removed his hand from the inner pocket it had never left, carrying with it a cigarette etui and a silver lighter. Carefully he extracted a single stick of tobacco and equally slowly ignited it before taking a deep draw. Looking up into the gloomy sky and exhaling he put lighter and etui back inside his suit before took another draw and again letting the blue smoke run out his nostrils, ignoring his surrounding.

"Why?" Disbelief, a trace of sadness, a trace of confusion, and a trace of anger rang with that single, almost neutral syllable. "What Kind of games are you playing?"

"None…anymore." came the calm response. "I did what I did, you did what you did, as easy as that."

"Don't give me that crap. You should have known about the gun. You should have seen this coming."

"Who said I did not?"

"But…this is…pathetic!"

"Some things are simply worth dieing for, Mireille. But it takes a long time to realize what they are. And sometime, maybe all too often, it is too late. There is no more place for me." Smiling he took another draw and finished the cigarette and flicked the remains away. And with the still glowing tobacco Brad Crawford went down on his knees, his previously immaculate white suit sporting red, steadily growing stain. And for the fist time in many years his face showed signs of pain. But not for long.

"To live… either you or me, from here on it was. Use this gift, well. I will be seeing you in hell, my dear."

And with those words the white clad man collapsed, never to walk out of that ally again. And as if bonded to the mans life the single light in the alleyway ceased to shine, shrouding everything in darkness, except for the tiny sparkle of a single tear on a woman's face.

* * *

Again I would like to hear what you think, for better or worse ( or at least tell me what a great story I wrote, oder did not) 


	9. Ending III: Shades of Black

This time I have choosen. After long perril and indecission of how to communicate to you, that it is beyond my will and ability to claim this work of fanfiction as my own creation I have choosen:

Not mine!

(#) foot notes - see end of Chapter

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**Ending III: Shades of Black**

A slim smile on his face Crawford elegantly turned around to face the female figure who had entered the alleyway. She had been walking with an unconscious grace that even accomplished the impossible feature of moving noiselessly in high heels on concrete. But he had noticed her nevertheless.

"I hope you were not trying to sneak upon me, Mireille. You should now better, than that."

She did not react as she stopped three meters away from him on the other side of the small island of light that was cast by the single neon light into the darkness. He took a moment to regard her, now garbed in a tight fitting leather jacket matching her skirt, holding only her purse. Her face was cold and unmoving, and her eyes were focused on him looking for a hostile movement.

"You know, it is really sad that you forgot the flowers. You should have at least taken them with you." was the reaction she got.

"What does it matter, Brad?" she replied coldly. "Did you expect me to rejoice in them?"

"No, of course. You are right." Crawford answered her, showing the faintest trace of disappointment: "Considering what I suppose your decision has been, tokens of courtesy are of no importance here, are they?." With a sight he reached inside his suit.

"I suggest you leave that where it is." she never gave him the chance to draw a weapon - the request, quick and cold like the questions before, was now backed up by a silenced gun that had appeared in the slender hand of the blond woman.

"What?" Crawford replied with played disbelieve as he slowly pulled his hand out of his suit, revealing a silver lighter and cigarette etui. "You remember these, do you not? I know you do not like me smoking, but I have to admit that you never expressed your dislike of this particular foible quite this forcefully." React she did not to his playful joke.

"Just go ahead. It does not seem as if lung cancer will kill you after all now, does it?." she simply stated with a mean glint in her narrowed eyes. Complying, Crawford carefully took out a white stick and lighted it, taking a drag.

"Want one, too?" he asked invitingly as he took a step towards her, holding out the etui in his hand.

"Don't! Just stay where you are!" she hissed loudly, before reverting to the icy cold and leveled voice from before: "Back than in Budapest it was impossible to get close to you in many ways. Why change that now?" Mireille replied bitter sweetly, never averting her aim off him.

Crawford again complied and instead took another long drag from his cigarette. Staring into nothingness, he slowly exhaled, almost sighing, before he once again spoke: "Yes. Budapest… seems like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?" The woman holding the weapon did not answer, but he continued anyway. "You know, you were, and are, really an astounding woman, Mireille Bouquet.. Beautiful, elegant, and intelligent."

"Well, thank you, I guess." Her short comment was not at all thankful, but dripping with sarcasm. Crawford simply ignored it.

"But the most intriguing thing about you, was your unpredictability. A phenomena quite similar to your two little friends, but not nearly as strong as theirs. By the way, you would not happen to have any idea about what might be the cause for that phenomena, have you?"

Her answer lacked a second but her cold face never changed as she wryly answered: "No. But please continue if you have more to say." He did:

"Anyway. Unlike every other woman I have met, with you I could never tell for sure what would happen, never clearly predict what would be the right buttons to push, never see if I would end up in bed with you or not. You really were an enigma. But…" The white suited man fell silent for a moment: "But as much as it fascinated me, it also did scare me. It scared me more than you might have thought. Back than I could not bear it, I had to go. I am sorry Mireille."

He had finished his cigarette and threw the stump away, looking at her waiting for a response. She slightly smiled, but not a warm smile:

"It is nice to hear that you cared. But that time does not matter anymore." The smile left her face as quickly at it had appeared: "My answer is still no. Famous last words Brad Crawford. Good bye."

Two silenced shots rang through the night and for the first time the face of the women betrayed emotions. Surprise mixed with anger and fear.

"And who said, that it is exactly I who is going to die tonight?" A now unpleasantly smiling Brad Crawford asked mockingly while carefully massaging his left hand which was holding the cigarette etui - now sporting two deep bullet dents. "Oh look what you have done Mireille. And I had hoped to keep it as a memento of you. On the other hand...now it got a personal touch. What do you think?"

He took another step towards her. She fired two more shots at him. Shots that should have hit heart and head by any means. Shots that were blocked and evaded like before.

"No! You will not kill me Crawford. You wont hurt me again." She spat at him defying.

The American only smiled: "Again I must ask, who said that it is exactly I, who is going to kill you?"

By a timing beyond chance another figure appeared at the entry to the alleyway at that moment, prompting the blonde women to instinctively turn around and face the person a few meters away.

"Hello? Foreign Lady? Are you here. You forgot your flowers." and "See I told you. You should have taken them with you. Exquisite white Lilies, by the way. But now, good bye, my love." were the last words Mireille Bouquet ever heard while soft hands closed around her neck from the direction she had just turned away. Soft, yet in one moment powerful hands, that ended her life with a snap.

§§§

Everything had been said, the rules been laid out. The fight had begun and with it every need for inhibitions of any kind had ended.

And the beast rejoiced, as did it's master, for the beast was part of it's master the way the master was part of itself. Tightly guarded day and night, guarded by an intellect that in the least acknowledged self-preservation, yet maybe went far beyond that into another extreme of human consciousness.

But nevertheless the beast had hungered; for release, for freedom, for blood.

All too often the times when it had been free had ended all to soon, all to quickly. And always the wait for the next time had been all too long. But for now all that did not matter. There was only the fragile pray in front of it and warm blood inside that called out to be spilled.

But not too fast, for moments like these were much too scarce and needed to be savored and that the beast did. Like a cat did with an already captured mouse. The mouse, though, was given only the impression it could escape, his own prey was given the impression it was able to win, the impression of being superior and thus the cuts and wounds had accumulated on his body, meaningless as they were. He had only smiled and enjoyed, and kept on smiling when finally he just walked into a swing of his prey and gripped her at the throat, he kept on smiling as her faces turned from surprise into fear, and he kept on smiling while she tried to hurt him, to cut herself free, until he finally whispered to her in his eerie raspy voice: "It is over!" just before releasing the last of his constrains.

It was a long time until the person Farfarello reappeared that night at the now empty hotel bar, composed, but with a lingering feeling of having missed something, some other way of action that night.

Slowly he said down at the bar an ordered a Scotch to ponder over this uneasiness, ignoring the scared barkeeper as he set down, while blood dripped from the innumerous cuts and drenched rags - most of it not his own.

§§§

"Seven, last magazine if I am not wrong, am I?" Schuldig counted the bullet that just had past his face by the mere fraction of a millimeter. He didn't even blink, confident in his skills to keep the shallow wound he had acquired before the only injury today, at least on his own body.

"Six" he called out when another lead pallet imbedded itself in the house wall behind him.

Their little 'game' had taken them along countless front- and backyards, always different and yet always the same, only to be distinguished by whatever little details it's inhabitants had chosen to decorate it with. Things like the pair of ugly, kitschy, and really big garden gnomes he found in his way. Schuldig had disliked them the moment he had lain his eyes on them, when another bullet impacted in the head of one.

"Five, great shot, really." Schuldig commented mentally: "But can't you take the other one out of it's misery as well? Pretty please?"

He instantly got his answer.

"Thank you." He sent out grinning when the head of the second red-hatted abomination exploded as well. "Four, by the way."

But the girl was already gone again, and again he set out to follow her over the wall she had disappeared behind. Yet instead of another yard, he got a surprise.

The field in front of him was mostly empty, except for the two goal boxes marking this as sports field obviously belonging to a standard four storied Japanese elementary school building at it's far end. By the time he had crossed the perimeter the girl was already sprinting alongside the wall of the ugly concrete structure most likely to get the corner in between them.

"Too Late!" Schuldig took a quick aim and fired several rounds into her direction. They did not hit, but stopped her never the less. And again for the umpteenth time tonight he had to marvel at her recklessness. Fully aware of the futility of trying to make it to the corner under fire she had jumped, from full sprint directly sideward towards the building - through a window, a closed one.

As result now she probably sported some serious cuts - and now she held the advantage. Whilst he was standing in the open field in the twilight of a starless Tokyo night, she was inside a dark concrete building. An ideal cover and attacking point, if the window's shards had not taken her out. But he doubted that very much.

"Jeesh, how troublesome." he cursed slightly, steeled himself and then just walked towards the broken window right into her most probable line of fire. And fire she did, accurate and deadly as the dark silhouette of the red headed man slowly made his way towards her position.

"Three"

"Two"

"One, all is gone and here I come." he counted the shots - each a long pause apart.

Fading away from a bullet's path for the mere fraction of a moment was no easy task and the move had it's limitations, but it was ideal in this situation, and had brought him almost up to the front of the window - and it was one hellish opportunity for showing off:

"Missed me! Missed me! Neat trick, huh? Some nice guys in Switzerland taught me and..."

He did not get the chance to finish the sentence as another gunshot rang through the night.

Another one that he evaded.

"Oh yes, zero. Thought I would forget the last one in the chamber? Too bad we seem to share the same hereditary habits."

With that he emptied his own magazine into the room, reloaded and followed the bullets inside.

The classroom was empty, of course, an open door hinting where the first intruder had gone before the counter attack. Taking a quick look around the destroyed room he saw her now useless Beretta lying on the ground. He also spotted the signs of someone franticly searching through the cupboards to the side of the room, probably for a usable weapon. And to his greatest delight he found a trace: the bloodied footprints leading away from the broken glass towards the door and outside.

"All to easy, just like bread crumbs. Die Hard - the Hansel and Gretel way." Schuldig thought and left through the door.

Only to jump right back when two scissors came flying shuriken-like from the far end of the corridor. One hit. And fell to the ground.

Schuldig blinked. Rubbed his arm, blinked again and looked at the children proof tool that was lying on the ground, looking not even remotely dangerous.

'Too bad for you that they don't trust children with anything anymore these days." he shouted with obvious mockery in his voice: "But no running in the halls with scissors! Didn't your big brother tell you that? I guess I have to punish you for that."

She had had no chance after that. Easily Schuldig could follow the prints of her cut feet, through the floors and up to the roof. And than she could not flee anymore. Her last attack he had deflected hand to hand when he had stepped through the roof access door where she had ambushed him. The sharpened pencil in his shoulder sure did hurt, but she had been too weak to overwhelm him. And now she was standing at the far side of the roof at his gunpoint, her back pressed against the wire net of the chest high roof perimeter fence.

He had not really pursued her after throwing her off with his free hand. Nonchalant the man in the white suit took out and lighted a cigarette with his injured arm and took a drag.

"You know, you are really not that bad. Actually pretty cool. I don't know, what do you think about sorting this out, and afterwards just hang around or so, I think it wouldn't be a problem. Would be a shame to shoot you. How about it?"

He got no answer.

"Ok, Hey it's really no problem, I mean I am used to the 'I am the silent one' type of co-worker, so no prob there."

Still no answer.

"Hey can I take that as a yes? Hey I mean it will be hard without your friend, but it was Brads decision. You will miss her and all, and…"

Finally he got a reaction. The slightest trace of emotion crossing her face. But what followed surely hadn't been what he had expected.

She jumped.

He shot.

The bullet hit the shadowy silhouette in midair, tearing through the petit body and leaving the a trace of dark liquid hanging in midair in front of the twilight horizon, followed by an almost infinite time of silence. Until the dull thud of a body hitting the ground for stories below broke it.

Schuldig doubted that she would have survived her jump over the fence anyway, but a nagging feeling of uneasiness accompanied him as he made his way to the rim. An unusual feeling.

He watched the gruesome sight down below for a long time, igniting a few more cigarettes whilst he took in every detail he could make out from the distance, thinking.

Until finally he turned around: "Oh well. Show must go on. Kind of sad it is. But that's the way it goes. Our way."

Whistling he made his way from the roof and away from the scene and away.

The only trace the police found the next day next to never-to-be-identified victim was a graffiti on the school wall in really ugly Kanji reading: "Bad little schoolgirl!" giving birth to a legend among Tokyo's pupils(1). A legend Schuldig would find delight in it for years to come.

* * *

(1) Urban Legends from there on tell about a really strict truancy Officer, and that particular school had virtually no absent pupils in class for the years to come.

* * *

Well I guess that is the way Schwarz is. But they are Killers and no plush toys. 

Originally Only the first three endings till this point were planned and I like the dark, touch in all of them (at least I hope it's a good dark touch) that's one of the reasons why I decided to write them. But even though I like that melodramatic stuff I cannot stay all the time on the dark side and the last ending…well is called Soap bubbles. Guess what that is supposed to mean.

Actually I dropped a few hints in the first three endings about what will or might be happening there. Some more obvious than others.

I would like to know what you think - having read the story to this point - will happen there (even though the last Ending might already be out when you read this) as well as I would like to know what you liked about this one or did not.

The Silent Hypo Crit

Coming up next. Final Ending: IV Soap Bubbles

* * *

(1) Urban Legends from there on tell about a really strict truancy Officer, and that particular school had virtually no absent pupils in class for the years to come.


	10. Ending IV: Soap Bubbles

Disclaimer: The characters used in this last insane piece of my fan-fiction are still not mine (even though I am working on it – check back in a few millennia).

If you just finished one of the other endings and found them to be "touching" or you just like the atmosphere or the mood, I am not sure if you should right jump into this ending. Its…shall we say…different. Take a little reading break, to sap into the feelings of despair and desolation or get them out of you. Or use this to do it.

And: I haven't had a single piece of R&R commenting on the way these four different Endings work together (or do not). Or what kind of ending anyone did prefer (after reading them), so I would kindly ask you to comment on that after having finished reading.

* * *

**Ending IV: Soap Bubbles**

"Have you considered?" Crawford's voice was unusually pressed as he spoke.

"I don't know… I still…. I don't know if I should take it serious at all." a voice, rang through the empty street behind him, anxiety laden and unsure, hardly recognizable as that of proud Mireille Bouquet.

"I know. But what I said I meant, though my only proof is that I have not tried to kill you so far. Are you willing to accept that?"

She hesitated, unable to hide her disbelieve and caution, yet locking and putting away the gun she had been pointing at him up this moment: "For now. Let's take a walk. I think we need to talk a little more!" was her only reply.

Wordlessly he turned towards her, letting her take his arm with her free hand, the other holding the still unopened bouquet. The clouds finally had cleared up and the full moon was shining down on them as they walk down the road. The imitation of a perfect couple, yet strangely stiff and awkward.

After a while Mireille finally broke the silence: "You are sure about what you said, are you not?"

"Yes. I think I am!" came the answer a little slow

"What about the boy? What about his death? Did he mean nothing to you at all?."

"Nagi? He meant a lot! But….actually I am thankful to you. You did him a favor." Crawford's voice was quiet and thoughtful: "He got the death that befitted a member of Schwarz and…it saved him from a lot pain and agony…and us, too. Non of us could have done it."

"What are you talking about? You did not even have time to say good bye!" the confusion was prominent in Mireille's voice.

"Your client does not seem to be that well informed after all. Not well informed about certain aspects at all. But the two of us have already figured that out." A sad sight escaped Crawford's lips: "Nagi sure was powerful in mind, but not in body. He was suffering from several different types of cancer. Without Eszett he would have died a long time ago, long before his abilities would have matured. Still even our treatments have their limit, which is why talents like Nagi are deployed at such a young age, as this trait can be found in all but the weakest telekinetics and Nagi was one of the strongest. He would have died within the next few months, slowly and painfully, and there would have been nothing we could have done about it. If I had wanted to, I could have prevented him from going to school that morning…yesterday…" again Crawford paused for a thoughtful moment, smiling sadly, trying to find the right words: "But...I did not want to… Even though I could not determine the way it was going to happen and I think… he would not have wanted to turn back either had he known."

Again time lapsed as they walked in silence both lost in their own world of thought and again it was Mireille who finally spoke: "I see."

After a while she added: "How much of the future can you grasp? How much do you already know? Did you know that I would not shoot you on sight? Do you know already what my answer will be? Where our path's will lead to after tonight?" Something resonating within her voice spoke of a deep, basic need to know the answer to those questions. They were important to her.

"I can understand you question but it is not that easy. Nothing is predestined but different events have different levels of certainty. I knew Nagi would die off cancer eventually, but the exact date I would have know only perhaps one or two days in advance. Not the exact time. The closer an event is to the present the easier it becomes to predict it. For example, where a bullet is going to strike when the trigger is pulled is pretty certain, there are not too many factors involved. But it is harder with human actions and decisions. Forecasting the weather is easy in comparison. Especially with your two friends"

"Kirika and Chloe?"

"Yes. For some strange reason they seem not to be a proper part of our time continuum. A look into their futures seems to be a look into our pasts and the possibilities of their actions seem endless. Trying to predict anything surrounding them is as impossible as…" his explanation was suddenly interrupted by something only Crawford perceived. It made him smile. Not a big smile but a genuine one.

"What is it?" Mireille watched him uncomprehending.

"Nothing. Lets say interesting things can happen with our two young friends. I will tell you later…maybe." Crawford replied and continued with his explanation: "Anyway. With your own actions it is not that hard even though you, too, seem to be slightly effected by the same phenomena. But In the end I have no advantages over other men in the same situation. There are not that many outcomes to it. I can see them. But in the end it is you sole decision."

At that Mireille raised an eyebrow. "You want to honestly tell me that there are in fact other men in this world who have asked the same question to the women that was paid to kill them?" The soft chuckle spoke of disbelief but not of malice.

Crawford could only join in though his was even softer: "Well I have to admit the chances for that are not too great but…."the chuckle ended.

Their way had brought them to nearby park to the shore of a mall pond lined with plum trees already proving that winter was almost over. The blossoms shone brightly in the silver moonlight and the tepid breeze that was slowly moving the leaves spoke of a pleasant spring to come.

Crawford separated from Mireille and turned towards her. His face once again a cool mask yet there was something that Schuldig or Farfarello, had they been here, would have described as un-Crawford-like, perhaps it was a certain excitement that did not befit their proclaimed leader or a smile that was neither menacing nor cold.

But here it was only the two of them on this moon lighted night. Mireille Bouquet leader of the two woman assassin team known and feared as NOIR, but also being played with by Soldats a powerful secret society working behind the scenes. And Brad Crawford owner of rather successful import business residing in Tokyo Japan, but also head of Schwarz, apostate elite killer squat of Eszett, another powerful masterminding secret organization specialized into the supernatural.

But an unknowing spectator would not have know that. He would have only seen the two people as lovers alone in the night as Crawford took Mireille's hands.

They had stood there for several minuets staring into each others eyes when Crawford finally found the strength to move again. Gently taking the encased flowers from Mireille and opening them slowly as he spoke: "Mireille Bouquet. I do not know why I left you that time. The gravest mistake I must ever have made. You are the most astounding woman I have ever crossed paths with and I do not want to repeat mistakes of the past …please…despite what has happened between us in the past and what might happen tonight. I ask you to become my wife." Slowly he got down on one of his knees presenting her the collection of blood red roses that had unfolded from the paper. His white suit shone brightly in the night giving the impression of a fallen angle asking for absolution "I am waiting for you answer be it with words or with lead and I will be waiting as long as necessary." And then nothing more.

§§§ 

Something was bothering Schuldig. Something he had seen deep inside the girls mind. Trying to control her he had gone deeper insider her mind than he ever had done with other persona. Beyond the strange outer shell of her mind. Something from his past. Another shot past by him or rather through the place his head had filled a moment before like so many had done already on this night.

"Your name is Kirika, isn't it?" this time he called out aloud instead of telepathically accessing her mind. The name stirred unpleasant memories, it had an awfully familiar sound to it. Absently he fired into the direction he was sensing her without actually aiming. It just could not be. It had been too long. This girl was too young. Still he could not get the image he had seen out of his mind. He had to find it again. Suddenly he ran forward dodging several bullets all aimed for his most vital body parts. The street had little cover for him to hide but he had to try be it dangerous or not. He was close enough. In the relatively safety of an entryway to one of the moderately sized estates in this area he concentrated on her again. But this time he was not trying to distract her at all. In fact he carefully tried to hide his presence in her mind in fear of forcing her to run, trying to get out of his reach. Again he went the mental paths he had taken but half an hour ago. Deep down into parts of her mind that seemed to be inactive. Blocked by a trauma or something. Schuldig was no expert on this. There was a time in his life when he had thought about leaving Rosenkreuz and study Psychology to use his gift to help other people, to do good. But life had forced him down another road to become another man. So now this man, a professional killer, supposed to have no mercy, no fear, no feelings at all was franticly trying to find something in the very person's mind that obviously had no remorse to kill him. A person he had wanted to kill himself not to long ago. Yet something deep inside of him told him not to stop.

Almost in awe he watched the images he found and felt a sick fascination with the way she had been killing humans all her life. In still remembrance he had watched the last moments of Nagi's life knowing that as little as he liked what had happened, it only had accelerated the inevitable. But Nagi was only the last in long row of murders and killings. One of the more intense memories, the earliest, consisted of her holding a gun in small hands and shooting a mother while the blonde European women was holding her young daughter. He could not tell how old Kirika had been that time for the memory contained only her own view. Only the remembered heaviness of the gun and the size of her hands let him guess her age at that time. Two other facts he noticed about the memory. A strange absence of emotion connected to it and an insistent tune played by music box or something that overpowered every other sound at the ghostly scene. But he discarded those findings. He was looking for something else, something that had happened before that memory he had just released, something hidden even deeper.

Interrupting his search for a moment he noticed that even though she was roughly at the same spot she had been before she seemed to have stopped firing. Had she noticed him? He did not care, he had to find the image he hat found the last time through sheer luck. A find it he did.

Three familiar faces at what seemed to be a birthday celebration of a fourth birthday. Two of them he had almost forgotten himself but the last one he knew by heart. It may have been younger in this memory than he remembered, but he had seen it all too often during his life. It was his own. Slowly he realized to whom the other two faces had to belong to.

"Mama!…Papa!" it were almost a whispers that got carried through the silent alley. The person who had uttered them, pressed against a wall the moment before, fell to his knees. Tears running down his cheeks he could not tear his mental eye from the two faces that he had not seen in so very long, forgotten in his own memory. The two smiling people he had hold dear for only the shortest period in his life before Rosenkreuz before… . A tall man with the same impossible red hair Schuldig sported and big brown eyes that seemed to have gained a slightly taint from the air, unmistakably his father. Besides him his wife, the small petite Asian women that so much resembled the girl he had been following yet having his own sapphire eyes so rare to find with Asian people. And than he realized who the person was he had been following, whom he had tried to kill, in who's memories he had found these ghosts of the past, ghosts of his own past.

The whispers were followed by cry of pain, something long captive finally broken free: "Kiri-chan!" He did not care if she shot him or not. He just had to see her. Without hesitation he jumped up an run toward where he could feel her presence. But shoot she did not when he frantically turned the corner that she had found refugee behind. He was not expecting to see her lying in a fetal position tears running down her face, her gun next to hear. "Mirellei….I am so sorry..." she repeated again and again almost inaudible.

When she had seen him through the streams of tears his gun firmly held she had already concluded with her life not caring what would happened to her. She did not know why all those memories had suddenly turned up, Perhaps it was that telepath's doing, but she did not care. She wanted to die for what she had done, she expected to die, she suddenly found herself in a tight embrace. Another memory stirred. A happy memory of a time even beyond the seemingly endless assassinations and murders. "Mama…Papa…..Sebastian!" The tears did not stop. Not for a long time.

§§§

The ballet of blades performed one the rooftop of the hotel was extraordinary. Two masters of the art of knife fighting out to kill each other. Two evenly matched opponents exchanging blow after blow with cat like agility yet neither hitting the other's flesh. Also like cats they circled each other in the brief pauses only to again turn on the other trying to find a weakness. Slashes were blocked and stabs avoided to be countered the next moment. Often injury was escaped by mere millimeters. Chloe's slightly superior speed and technique were met by Farfarello's greater strength, reach and endurance. But while the flesh of the two fighters seemingly had not taken any fatal damage at all, their garment had. Early in the fight Chloe had had to drop her cape for the fear of getting entangled in the mass of loose stripes and holes it had accumulated quickly. The blades may have missed the skin but not the fabric. Farfarello's T-Shirt had no lasted much longer. After one of Chloe's throwing knifes had cut through the collar seam and another slash that had missed his abdomen cut the front almost in half he had just ripped the remaining shreds off. Yet no other sound could be heard on the rooftop but the high pitch ring of metal hitting metal and hissing. No further conversation, no words of taunting. Eyes locked onto the body of their opponent they were watching for the slightest sign of movement. A single muscle impulse underneath the skin-tight black bodysuit that covered Chloe's almost fragile form would cause Farfarello to go into a defensive action even before she actually attacked. The movement of flesh, sinews, and tendons on his lean frame, almost impossible the grasp underneath the Irish's white scarred skin, told her where to expect the counter swing aimed to disembowel her. She avoided it the last second. Yet again the blade caught her adding another long cut to her garb. What once had been a one-piece bodysuits with a long left sleeve and a turtle neck now sported the signs of attacks on all her vital body parts. Attacks that never hit yet left marks, some only on her gear, others penetrating the skin leaving thin red lines on the white skin underneath. What the enemy blades had not accomplished had been done by her own movement, not having the time to take regards to the stressed material. By now her shoulders were bare. Cuts aimed at her throat or her neck having severed the suit's and any other material completely leaving the rest of the turtle neck like a choker and the remaining shreds hanging down. The same had happened to the fabric covering her abandon and her kidneys and the suit's trouser legs now consisted of only thin irregular stripes. The only part of her gear that was not damaged beyond repair were her long brown leather boots reaching up to the knee and ending in protective kneepads as well as the leather gear around her right wrist and left upper arm.

The foot gear was the only still usable wear on Farfarello as well. There were no rules in this game and when an upwards slash that almost cut him open from crotch to nose but only tore through his belt and waistband finally had rendered the jeans unusable he had torn them off with his knife severing the last resisting fibers. It was either stripping or dieing – the damaged pants would have hampered his movement too much. So now he was facing the by now evenly scantily clad yet very deadly females assassin in only his shoes and white boxer briefs. A few remaining bandages were fluttering in the low breeze, most off them gone having revealed old and new scars. He didn't mind though. Not only because decency and temperature concerned him the same way politicians usually are concerned about their voters – not much after the election - , but also because this was greatest excitement he had had in a long time. Again and again they clashed, sparks flew, the polished metal irregularly reflecting the light from above creating the illusion of more than mundane weapons being used in this dance of death, fantastic, magic weapons maybe.

With sand and palm trees on the roof they might have given the impression of attending a strange gothic beach party at midnight, but there were none. A thin layer of sweat, at some places intermingling with blood, covered the bodies of the two fighters, their equally ghostly white skin shone brightly in the silver light, and small streams of vapor rose from their heated bodies in the cold air as they once more moved around, measuring each other. Only caring for fighting capability of their opponent, ignoring every other aspect and thought the exited body and barely covered anatomy of the opposite sex might have caused. He let his knife wander from one hand to another and back; easily as if playing. She readied her last throwing knife. At an unseen signal they jumped, out for the kill. Metal hit metal and metal hit flesh. Farfarello's knife blocked by Chloe's resulting in battle to overpower the other. Left versus right. The throwing knife pierced through his other palm, his fingers closed around hers preventing her from letting go of the useless rendered weapon. His blood ran down on her wrist mirroring the stream on his. Never losing sight of the other's eyes they struggled for the upper hand. She kneed him in the groin which showed no effect while he found the petite body in front of him to be far more resilient than should have been possible. Their faces showing grim determination only centimeters apart, their long slender limbs interlocked in a stand-off between life and death. And then they kissed. A tender kiss. A kiss between young lovers on their first date, not sure what to expect, not trying to hurt the other. Softly and warm. Where it came from no one could tell it just happened. They never let go of the weapons yet they stood there with closed eyes and locked lips for what seemed like eternities.

Words were not necessary that night and an unspoken trust settle in as in unison they dropped the blades and she carefully removed the knife from his palm. Arm in arm they left the roof, never to be seen again at that place with only the moon as witness. And only some strewn weapons and rest of clothing bearing proof to what had occurred here. Love at first fight one could have said.

And thus with the new morning and a long absent sun also rose, a marriage, a family reunion, and – of course on 14th of February, young love.

And maybe the lived happily ever after.

§§§

* * *

Oh Well, Its over I guess. Hope you survived this last piece of massive Kitsch, with its gloriously rose colored happy endings. After all the gore and blood in the other endings even I needed some grand overdoing it. 

In my opinion this ending is the least serious and most childish one, but I like it as well as the others, which itself of course was the reason for doing all four.

So I do not have a really preference, but I really would like to know what you think. Is there a single "best" ending to the First chapters or does it work with all of them? Can four different endings function as one story with many flavors or do they just mess it all up and one should stick with a single one (A single ending that you would recommend to your friends when they read this story for example – what you hopefully do) I really appreciate your opinions.


End file.
